


He Will Be Loved

by freckledbutt (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Actor!Marco, Anime, BL, Coffee, Coffeeshop!Marco, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, JeanxMarco - Freeform, M/M, Manga, Multi, Other, Romance, Violence, Yaoi, artist!jean, attackontitan, jeanmarco, marcojean - Freeform, marcoxjean - Freeform, shingekinokyojin, sometimes I get distracted with erejean hehe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3666132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/freckledbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing with Marco Bodt it that he is always helping others and ignoring his own problems in the process. </p><p>He's putting so much effort into my happiness and yet I think he's hiding, no, burying his sadness in the meantime, somewhere I can't see it. There is something wrong with Marco Bodt.</p><p>I'm scared, I'm clueless, and this situation is like pushing myself through a maze of thorns; but I do know one thing:</p><p>I need to save Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mad World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All around me are familiar faces  
> Worn out places, worn out faces  
> Bright and early for their daily races  
> Going nowhere, going nowhere
> 
> Their tears are filling up their glasses  
> No expression, no expression  
> Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow  
> No tomorrow, no tomorrow
> 
> -Mad World, Gary Jules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!
> 
> This first chapter reveals a bit about Jean's life, but more plot will happen so on and so forth :) 
> 
> I warn you, I'm covering dark topics, don't read if you're in for cutesy only. Also general tigger warning? I pretty much mention all trigger-y stuff at some point! I'm a dark hearted guy, ok?
> 
> This ain't a tragedy I promise. But life isn't smooth and these guys have stuff they need to sort out. 
> 
> Tag this fic with...
> 
> Fic: He Will Be Loved
> 
> or
> 
> Fic: HWBL
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com/) (Ask me whatever you like :))

Our story is kind of...abrupt. It is a story I treasure more than most things I have. A collection of memories only to share and behold like they are happiness itself. But like I said, it's abrupt.

Well, it's not like I expected the puzzle pieces that were my life to remain jumbled in a box forever. No one would want that. But, every so often you get slapped with an occurrence in your existence that can only take life two ways:

Up or Down.

And in my case, Marco Bodt came along. Abrupt and unexpected.

The story is mostly of a collection of everything that I tried to achieve, my challenges and goals. Everything from my own selfish aims to wanting to protect Marco as if he was my treasured gold. After all, life is measured in achievements, and that is the basic _structure_ to our story.

Though, I'm not going to say just yet how the story ends. I'm not telling you yet whether he took it up or down. But this is the story of how Marco attempted to put my puzzle pieces together, and I tried for him too.

You know, I'm just going to shut right up and tell how the story goes about.

Let's start at the beginning, though it's quite daunting to look back on, it's the only valid start of the story.

It happens to begin on a Tuesday. Really, it could have been perhaps a Friday or a Sunday which would have been more...cliché. But yeah, it was a Tuesday.

The rain poured heavily on my window that morning. I don’t know what was so fucking interesting about _rain_ that had me captured; I guess nothing else in my room caught my eye. The icy covers of my bed stuck to my sweat coated skin. I yawned wildly, my face imitating a lions roar though only a groan of exhaustion escaped my dried lips. Autumn sucked. Seriously, whats the fun in rain and dried leaves that stick to your feet and mush instead of crunching? That's the luck of England. No crunchy leaves to jump in as a kid, squealing in unfathomable excitement, because the rain dampened them to become somewhat a resemblance of wet paper.

I crawled out of my bed like a sloth, even though my alarm had blared some dumb old _Franz Ferdinand_ song (that I actually loved) thirty minutes prior. _Why do you even set it so early, Jean?_ I questioned myself. Quite frankly, all I wanted was a warm cup of black coffee. Bitter and resurrecting.

I stumbled over to my wardrobe and pulled on some trashy jeans and a washed out band shirt. I never usually bothered remembering what band I wore on my shirt each day, but I remember specifically that, on that special Tuesday, it was _Nirvana_.

Another school day. Another day in which I wandered about my University, friendless and introverted. It was laughable really - how much of a loner I was. To be honest, it was my own fault. It was my own fault that I really couldn't stand talking to people. Trust issues, I guess. It was not my fault, though, that I had trust issues. That's a whole other story. But I just lacked strength in myself to even _try_ gaining a social life.

* * *

Mornings were pretty laid back for me. My University was about a five-minute walk from my flat, minus the walk from the gates to campus of course. I had this ridiculous anxiety that forced me to set my alarm at 6:30 though I knew that left me three hours to get ready. It just felt more comfortable to have time for a good breakfast and some TV, more like time to actually wake up. My Father left at 5am every morning and would always fret thinking I wasn’t having enough to eat; after all, ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day’. I can assure you, I ate _more_ than enough.

I was raised to know good food from bad food. There is this heavy stereotype on England that we cannot cook and our food is tasteless and boring. If I’m honest, the stereotype is quite true. Obviously, there are tons of people who can cook in England, in fact, our cooking was normal. But the other part of the stereotype, about the tasteless food, yeah, that’s _100%_ true.

People deny that fact, of course. Those people, I can assure you, are English.

_Typical._

My Mother, Nicole, was born in France, my Father, Carsten, from Germany, and they met in a Western European restaurant. Well Carsten was working part time as a waiter, if I remember correctly. He was told to serve table 12, where a woman sat reading a book. I thank god that there was no cheesy moments in the meeting, Carsten was not the kind of man to speak some bad romanticizing French line at a some lonesome woman he saw reading _‘Les Fleurs du mal’_. The thought sends shivers down my spine. Anyway, I guess she went there often and some 'heavenly fate' brought them to talk. Perhaps about their experiences moving to England, or their odd obsession with Japanese literature. The three of us never really sat and discussed what happened before my birth, not that I’d want to know _all_ the details, jeez, but that’s not my point.

When you’re raised in a country with shitty food, to parents who cook like fucking Raymond Blanc, you can see a _big_ difference. I was a rather large, to put it _lightly_ , kid who had platefuls of Mama and Papa’s delicious foreign food. I lost all of my weight around the time I met Eren Jaeger, though I’d rather not mention him. It was mostly due to much hated P.E lessons that I toned up a bit, but Mother just says it was puberty. Even if I wasn’t a walking whale anymore, I still ate like a goddamn emperor.

When Mother went back to France, Father had to work a hell of a lot harder for us, hence why he left at 5am. When high school came along, I didn’t have anymore amazing food. I cooked for myself. In the least obnoxious way possible, I can say honestly, I cook like a _god_. Finding some pot-noodles in my household would’ve been like finding a bomb on an aeroplane. Not. Good.

So in the end my point is that, yes, I did need all that fucking time in the morning because I made myself a grand breakfast. Every single day.

 

* * *

 

 

I took a final sip of coffee before throwing on my backpack and leaving my little flat. I didn’t own an umbrella, being the obvious _genius_ I was, so I got soaked on the way to school some mornings. Most mornings, I’ll say correctly, _thanks England_.

Tuesday mornings consisted of a script-writing class, Art class and finally French. Trost Arts School was pretty extravagant due to the sheer size of Trost. The downside was that not many people went to Trost Arts School, despite its size, and everyone knew each other. I was the only person that people didn’t know. The grumpy guy who sat in the back corner of every lesson. The guy who left campus to eat lunch alone, with a constant scowl inscribed in his face. The guy who avoided any human interaction.

First period was always the worst, not because of the lesson, but more because I still felt asleep. I was in mostly the top set classes, well, all the top set classes. But hey, I was just a smart kid. Being in top sets was really hard so only a small group of students were good enough. That was why most of my lessons consisted of about five to ten students. Though somehow, I still didn’t know the names of any of them.

I choked down an anti-depressant silently as Professor Brzenska began speaking enthusiastically, “Good morning everybody,” She extolled almost unnaturally, “As you know it’s not very long til December so we are going to do an assignment. The small group of students that were my English class cheered. _They fucking cheered._

“That’s my top students for you,” She smiled proudly as if presenting us to someone, “Anyway, we are going to be teaming up with the top set Drama class again, but this time I have a _surprise!_ ”

God, Brzenska was way too unprofessional. _We aren’t kids_ , I moaned internally. Last time we ‘teamed up’ with the drama class, all I had to do was write out a shortened script of a modern day take on ‘ _A midsummer nights dream_ ’, and we handed them over to the drama class, who then preformed them. It wasn’t really ‘teaming up’ with them, _thank god_ , as throughout the whole assignment I spoke not one word to anyone. I obviously preferred working alone. The small blonde girl, History or Hestira or something, stood up eagerly as if to push Brzenska on. All I could think was how hilarious it was that _even standing up_ ; the little blonde midget _still_ wasn’t as tall as anyone else.

“Unlike previous collaborations with the Drama class,” she carried on, “This time we’ll actually be working with them!”

The class remained silent, not really understanding what she meant. Even _I_ looked up for once.

“What I mean is, this time, you will be _paired with somebody_ from the class and will work _together_ in creating a one-man play!”

I felt my heart practically stop.

_'Paired with somebody'_

_'Work together'_

Fuck.

* * *

I felt a little dizzy, my sense of reality was altered. I'm surprised I didn't faint. I darted my eyes and everything remained blurry. Then I closed them, slamming my lids shut.

10, 9...

I counted.

8, 7, 6...

I needed to calm myself.

I guess the idea of having to work with someone else, someone I didn’t know, was too much for the stupid old Jean Kirschtein. _How the fuck am I supposed to get out of this one_ , I yelled mentally.

5, 4, 3-

New people, new friends, new experiences that could only end badly...that was what I feared the most.

2-

“Um, Hello,” A small and fairly familiar voice interrupted me. Obviously I didn’t reply, but instead cocked my head slightly to face the person. It was the blonde midget from my class. My heart began jerking about in panic, as I didn’t know what to do.

The girl held out her hand and patted down on the air as if to calm me, “It’s okay,” she began, “I don’t expect you to talk.” My eyes re-gained consciousness. I was sat in class, everyone else minding there own business or doing whatever task Brzenska had assigned. The girl stood before me had her hair braided neatly to the side, a strand or so loosely tucked behind her ear. She wore a crimson knit jumper and jeans. I chuckled in thought that she probably shopped in the childrens section...

Anyway, I couldn't ignore her presence for too much longer. Her arctic-blue eyes glared at me with such a look that could pull you into a warm and sentimental sleep of dreams about apple blossoms and pearl white chrysanthemum.

"My name is Historia," She explained with a voice like a field of flowers, "You looked seriously out of it so I came over to check on you. You okay, _Jean?_ "

I was a little confused about the situation. Presumably, this Historia girl was a benevolent character, and maybe she just worried because I most likely looked like a seasick sailor. Her smile was somewhat soothing, it was a smile I couldn't fear. She had a look of friendliness and she smelled like violets. She had a small hand fisted into a ball, shaking slightly, perhaps nervous of what I might do or say to her. All that I was certain of was that she wanted to help, and all I was doing in return was ignoring her.

 _Come on_ , I thought, _she won't bite..._

Somehow I built up a bit of courage and nodded, “Y-yeah, thank you.” I whispered almost silently. Despite my voice sounding effortless, like I wasn’t thankful at all, she still smiled an extra large smile. She clapped her hands together in enthusiasm yet the sound appeared gentle and calm.

“Jean!” She beamed, “You _talked_ to me...I’ve seen you around and I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long!”

Wanted to talk to me for so long? It came as a surprise to me that anyone had actually realized I existed. And here this girl was; saying she'd wanted to talk to me all this time. Honestly, I was quite happy at the thought. A rampage of emotions flew through my head like a cyclone, joy, surprise, shock, fear...

And all I managed was a cough and a, “Um…Nice to meet you?” _Good one, Jean_.

"Ah, no need to be awkward, we’re classmates after all. I'd glad you're alright, you looked very pale.” She cupped her mouth less dramatically, “Oops, sorry, we’ve only just met haven’t we, and I'm being very forward,” She chuckled sounding like a Victorian country girl after confessing to a man, “I got a bit overexcited, but, um, would you mind if I talk to you once in a while?” She raised an eyebrow and grinned cheerily. I nodded and gave what I considered somewhat of a smile. I thought that...with time...I could actually attempt to make her a friend.

The rest of the lesson was spent mostly in silence. Historia was told to go back to her seat and I lay my head on the table and got some shut-eye.

After that I still had Art and French class left, but I didn’t feel like going, after all I was still a little delusional and I didn't want to end up fainting if I tried to do anymore work. But yet I felt relieved, it had been years since I made any effort to talk, and so I was proud of myself. Historia had to leave as well, she said she had something to discuss with someone, his name was Marky or something Italian sounding. She’d asked for my phone number and email too, which I was a bit uncomfortable with, but I gave them to her anyway. I didn’t want to disappoint. I wanted to become the Jean Kirschtein I was before all the _shit_ happened. Even if I was a grumpy, stubborn, sarcastic bastard, I still fit in more. I had a life.

I returned to my flat at around midday and walked straight to the kitchen. I decided to go for tomato soup, which was simple enough to make. I made three portions worth, one for lunch tomorrow and one for my Fathers dinner. The landline phone began ringing violently from the shelf behind me to which I ran over and grabbed. You’d think I wouldn’t answer phone calls, and you’re right, I didn’t. But my Mother called often to see how I was, and I did answer her of course. I checked the number of the incoming call. Yep, It was her.

“ _Jean boy_! You haven’t called me in a whole week!” She cried.

There is something nostalgic about a Mothers voice, whether you hear it every day, or once a year, or never again. But the sound of it is something that refreshes a child in ways they don't understand. As for my Mother, her voice was clear, unlike my Father's throaty babble, and layered with a pretty French accent. It always made me feel good to hear her again. Though, sometimes her dramatic ways of opening a phone call startled me a little.

“ _Calm down_! I’m here now, we can talk!” I replied.

My Mother was a worrier, she’d fret about everything and anything, and would miss me after ten minutes. I felt a bit guilty not calling her for a whole week. I imagined the beginnings of wrinkles at the side of her eyes from stress and nerves, not damaging her youthful face, but making it look more real, more human. I used to love looking at people and wondering what their story was, where those stars were from, why those lines of worry were etched across their forehead. My Mother had a smooth, almost baby face. It never showed any signs of hard work or strain. I hadn't seen her in a long time, though, and so I wondered if she looked older or different.

“Jean, dear, have you been eating well? How has school been? Is your Father okay? Make sure he gets enough sleep-”

“ _Maman_ , everything is okay, I promise. I just made lunch so I’m fine, and Dad sleeps right after dinner, he’s fine.” I interrupted her panic. Sometimes she laughed at my average pronunciation of French words, after all I was better at German, but hearing her laugh showed she was okay, and so it made me happy too, “Anyway, how are you _Maman_? Is Grandmother okay?” I asked my mother calmly. I heard her sigh.

She was probably very stressed out. She didn’t work, but looking after my Grandmother was equally as stressful. The reason my Mother had gone to France in the first place was because both of her parents had cancer, which is terrible luck for a start. But one day my Grandfather died, at age seventy-something, and Grandmother couldn’t look after the house alone. She was a stubborn old hag, Grandmother was, and Mother always said I got my stubbornness from her. But because of her stubbornness, she refused to go to an old people's home or a cancer ward or even have a special nurse look after her. She didn’t want to be treated either. Something along the lines of, “I’m old anyway, let me die in my own home!” So the only way she could actually eat or keep the house in tact was if Mother went to look after her. Mother said that she’d be back soon, basically when Grandmother died, but it’d been over seven years and Grandmother was still going. No cancer was taking her down. She really _was_ a stubborn old hag.

“Grandmother is…just fine, Jean, she’s as stubborn as ever. Always has been. It's always affected me! You know, she was so strict when I was your age. Your father was my _first_ love ever, and the reason he was my first was because Grandmother wouldn’t let me have a boyfri-” Mother was about to go on discussing whatever and I would’ve listened but I wanted to tell her about Historia.

“ _Maman_ , I think I made a friend. Well not really a _friend_ , but she _talked to me_ and I talked back,” Mother didn't reply as if to make me carry on speaking. I gulped and parted my lips again, "She told me that she's wanted to talk to me for a while. I couldn't believe it!"

“Jean!” She screeched, “I’m so proud of you, I hope she’s a nice person. You could do with a few friends, you know!” I could practically feel her grin through the phone, “When I come back home, and there’s no excuse now, I expect to see you surrounded by friends, oh, and a boyfriend too!” I practically heard her wink.

“ _Maman_ , please don’t talk about that stuff,” I ordered her, “I don’t have enough social skills to open the front door to someone, never mind get another _boyfriend_.” She laughed at the other end of the line.

‘Well, as long as you’re getting somewhere, I can be at comfort. And make sure to tell your Dad if anyone is mean to you,” I would usually come up with some ‘I’m not a baby I'm actually 21’ remark, but she was my just Mother and she just cared.

I smiled and said, “Okay I will, I’ll talk to you again soon, I love you, _Maman_.”

"I love you too, son."

* * *

The next few days seemed rather uneventful, other than a few smiles or greetings to Historia and so on.

But on Friday something scarily unexpected happened.

I felt a little ill that day. I'd woken up with a slight fever but decided to go in to school anyway. I guess I didn't want to miss art glass. Sadly, with the overheated classroom and that disgusting taste of paint in my mouth, I was practically at the verge of throwing up. My stomach was unsettled too, and not because of the curry I'd eaten the night before.

I wiped a droplet of sweat from my temple and got back to work. We had been told to practice sketching people for the thousandth time, and so I chose Historia. I had a smooth Canvas, not one of those bumpy ones that are harder to draw on, and a pot of pencils. I worked on her face shape and her delicate features, mapping out where everything went, then defining it to what I deemed accurate. I felt slightly dizzy. I should have just stayed at home. My head throbbed.

Some footsteps sounded from behind me. I didn't question why someone was wandering around in my isolated area at the back of the room. I decided to turn off my music because the sound was too much against my headache.

Then a voice spoke, “ _Eh_ , you probably don’t want Ymir to see you drawing her girlfriend,” The voice chuckled gently. There was definitely an accent attached to it. I wondered what accent it was. Although I was mentally screaming that someone was so near, I remained calm; after all, it wasn’t like they were talking to me.

“I’m Marco, _um_ , nice to meet you,” I heard the soothing voice carry on. He was the guy who Historia mentioned. _Italian_ , I thought,  _he definitely has a lingering Italian accent._ I carried on drawing, with my peace disturbed by this intruder. Something didn't feel right, there was an upset in the pit of my stomach.

“I, _uh_ \- I wanted to come and talk to you about this Script thingy and- Hey, _um_ , can you hear me?” _Wait, was he talking to_ me? I felt my heart start shaking in my chest again, and my lunch felt like it was rising back up my throat.

“Jean Kirschtein, that’s you right?” Marco asked hesitantly. _Shit_. Was I being punished? (And not only that but he pronounced my name wrong too!) I hadn't talked to a single male my age since Eren.

I clutched the sides of the canvas and it fell to the floor, knocking a pot of pencils and some paints down with it. I coughed violently for a second, burning up. Shaking, I turned around to face him. The sight of this other human, this ‘Marco’, was just a blur and I found myself jump up in an instant. I cupped my mouth to prevent throwing up.

Although I couldn't quite tell what his facial expression was, my brain started picturing him looking intimidating, angered, scary. Along with that, I felt sick as it was, so it was like a pile of pressure being put on me in the space of a minute.

“Jean?!” He cried, attempting to grab my shoulders but I pushed his hands away and ran. I bolted out of the stiff door of the art room and head for the toilets. The world was spinning at my feet. I jogged away from Marco. I hadn’t even got a glimpse of his face.

After all my lunch had spewed violently from my stomach, I steadied myself and decided to, once again, return home early. I saw in the distance a blurred Historia shouting at a confused Marco. She was probably telling him, _“He’s unstable!”_ or _“He has issues!”_ or _“You have to be gentle with people who have mental issues.”_ That’s what most people say.

Though, I couldn’t hold a grudge against this new guy, Marco, he had no clue that I was messed up. No clue that I was so goddamn terrified to talk to anyone that even looked slightly harmful.

 _Jean_ , _you are officially just a failure_.

I should have stayed home that day and talked to him on a day I felt better. It's moments like that when the kind of person I was back then couldn't handle anything. I couldn't handle more than one thing at a time. I had done so well talking to Historia, I even made Mother proud. God, I wish I could have reversed time and made a good first impression. I remember hoping Marco wasn't the kind of person to judge me or laugh at me for my dumb fears.

I walked sorrowfully through my apartment door. Despite having thrown up all of the days food that I had eaten, I skipped lunch. It didn't take long for me to cocoon myself in a blanket and curl up on my couch. I thought carefully about how else I could have handled the situation.

In an ideal world I would have turned around, smiled and introduced myself to him. I would have invited him to sit with me. I would have told him I couldn't wait to start working on the partnership project. Sadly that wasn't the case. I wasn't living in that ideal world, I was sat alone in my own one. The world was a harsh place, it still is. But it was harder for me to handle back then. I couldn't understand the way people looked at me. I couldn't comprehend why nothing seemed to go my way. One particle of a chance I got ended up withering away between my fingertips. All because of _him_. Those three things wrecked me, and it made my tongue go sour to think of them. I shook my head again to rid of the thoughts.

Sometimes I hoped that I could just close my eyes and shout, "Go away!" and watch everything disappear for a while.

That was when I decided to make a decision, a big one. Though, it was a big jump from the last few years of my life. The years I had used wastefully, walking the world like a lonely road. Even if it was the hardest mountain to climb, I would try. Try my best. I would attempt to become a part of society.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the first part of chapter one! From now on, notes will only (mostly) be at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> I know this pilot chapter seemed uber depressing, but it gets more fun. Not enough gays have been introduced yet is all!
> 
> REINERANDBERTLMAKEMYLIFEBETTER.
> 
> Her, Them and Him will be explained, though I hope you've realized that Him is Eren. I tried to make it obvious :)
> 
> More JeanMarco to come!
> 
> Sorry about Jean being a little idiot, I love him so much and I'm basically torturing him right now.
> 
> Contact my Kik @Shougo_wish (about the fic only please).
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)


	2. In Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe we're just trying too hard.  
> When really it's closer than it is too far
> 
> Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,  
> Up above in my head, instead of going under.  
> Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,  
> Up above in my head, instead of going under.  
> Instead of going under.
> 
> -Sum 41, In Too Deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC USED TO BE CALLED "Ghost" BUT I CHANGED IT BECAUSE OF CONFUSION WITH ANOTHER FIC SO SORRY FOR ANY MISUNDERSTANDING!!
> 
> So Marco will now become a main character! Though, he'll become even more important to Jean as the story progresses. 
> 
> Also, please pay attention to the lyrics in the summary - They fit the chapter that follows.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)
> 
> Or contact my kik @Shougo_wish (Only about the fic please)
> 
> FINALLY: Oh my god I have a fan and she messaged me and I hope she see's this because I am so happy right now!!! Thank you so much for not being a Ghostie and giving up time to contact me on kik it is much appreciated :D

Usually I liked getting up early, though I would stubbornly deny it, using birds or voices as an excuse for waking. I liked the early morning breeze that was sometimes not even there but could still be felt, just because it was morning. I hated how in summer the sun blazed through my windows as if it wanted to set you on fire and burn you into ashes. I loved how in winter it was still dark and I was thrilled to sneak downstairs like a ninja in the equivocating light.

 

Winter was slowly but surely approaching and I just couldn’t wait for Christmas. People were often surprised by this, _“Jean Kirschtein likes Christmas?! I thought he’d be more like scrooge!”_ To me, Christmas was spending time together as a family in front of a Christmas tree. For the past few years I’d had lonely Christmas'. Mother couldn’t afford to come home and Father often worked. But either way it didn’t matter. Christmas was Christmas. I could still phone my Mother.

 

I lay exhausted in my bed. The mornings were getting darker and darker. That certain Saturday morning I decided I wouldn’t get out of bed, especially after the week that had just happened. I had no energy. Though, my fever was slowly but surely fading. After a couple of hours lounging, moaning and cursing the world from under my covers, I checked the time. It was 10:52am. My stomach let out what could only be considered _‘The satanic growl of doom’_ and I gave in and slithered downstairs for food.

 

The apartment I lived it was small, but somewhat maze-like with all the second hand furniture, photographs and messages pinned against the walls. Father made makeshift corkboards where we would pin up important notices and they never got taken down because they made it all feel...homely. Even without Mother, out cheap little southern Trost apartment felt alive. Even in the cold mists and gentle frosts of autumn, there was still a sense of life.

 

I thought back to the Friday that Marco came along. A whole week had passed since then, a week of moaning in illness in my bed. Historia didn't contact me, which upset me only slightly. However, I was used to being alone. As I wandered down the confusing staircase. I thought about how I would attempt to make friends with Marco two days later. I wondered what he looked like. That blurred vision was nothing understandable. I remembered dark locks of hair, though.

 

“Right Jean,” I began talking to myself as usual. After the incident at the end of High School, I lost all friends and hope of finding new ones. I kind of got used to talking to no one. Whether it was to an animal, to a pillow or to myself, I would chat. In a way, it gave my mind some ease and I got let out my feelings and nobody could hear them. It was a functional strategy.

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s be _English_ today.” I chuckled weakly. I wanted to make myself seem happier. It was preparation. I opened a packet of crumpets before boiling the kettle. Once toasted halfway, I removed the almost crunchy crumpets from the toaster and slapped them onto a plate, I always ate my toast and crumpets half done. I lathered the crumpets in blueberry jam and munched on them whilst taking small sips of tea in-between.

 

 _Jean Kirschtein ate shop-bought crumpets?_ You may be thinking, but I can assure you that they were Tesco's finest. Not that that is even a justifiable explanation, but it worked for me. There were rules around food, sure, but in the most needy of moments, our household allowed _fine_ quality shop bought products.

 

I turned on the TV with haste and the _Friends_ theme song blared into my ears, “Ah, Nostalgia.” The episode was _The One With Unagi_ , which, in my opinion, was one of the most amusing episodes. The show was quite old but it was brilliant and always made for a good laugh, even when I was upset. I gulped down my last bite of crumpet and heard a hesitant knock on my door. Raising my eyebrows, I gave a small grin. _Yep, not opening that._

 

There was a second knock at the door and I mumbled curses on the tip of my tongue wishing they'd leave. There was a distant fumbling around that almost sounded like someone was feeling around the door step. The noise halted for a moment, but then I heard the voices again. One of them sounded panicked and the other sounded like they were assuring the other to stay calm. I bit my bottom lip in worry. God knows what was going on.

 

Then came the rattling of a key being turned and my heart fleeted about in my chest. I wished and wished for it to be Father but I knew deep down that he was in London for a meeting. The door creaked open, not slow, but not rapid. Two pairs of feet came running down the corridor and into the living room.

 

At that moment, my eyes watered over in realization of who the two intruders were. And oh my god, I wish they had invaded my house long before.

 

 _Them_.

 

 I smiled but I also wanted to scream. I was happy and sad at the same time and I shivered into the sofa.

 

“Jean.” Was all the two intruders said to me. Before I could reply they had leapt onto me and began hugging me tightly. “Jean! We’ve missed you so much!” I didn’t speak still, but instead stroked the reddish-brown hair of the girl and patted the back of the short haired guy that stood next to her.

 

I was crying, I'll admit it, but they were too. And it wasn't like I'd never cried in front of them before. Childhood friends and memories of trips to the beach and the theme park flooded back as I held my precious old friends close to me. It had been years since I had seen them and they were finally back. They left me. They left me just as everything was going downhill. That's something I wouldn't forgive them for. But they were back and they were in my arms and that is all we cared about. It felt like we had been hugging for hours by the time we pulled apart.

 

I managed to look at them with my dampened eyes. Sasha had grown her hair quite long. It was up in a ponytail but it must have definitely reached her shoulder blades. She looked youthful as ever. I laughed a little at the sight of her, stood with a bag of Doritos in her arms. She was a big eater still. She had really filled out though. I mean, gay men aren't particularly good at knowing when a womans body is attractive, but Sasha was by any standard. Her hips were round and curvy and her thighs were thick and strong. She had that gentle puff in her cheeks that added to the liveliness of her looks and she remained in the same old casual clothing.

 

Connie looked...no different. Other than a tiny growth spurt, he was still short, thin, impish and had that goddamn buzz-cut.

 

Connie looked at me smiling, still wondering what to say, but he instead turned to Sasha, “You know, I never would’ve thought you’d _actually_ walk straight into his house, Sweetie.” Connie said, surprised.

 

Honestly, it was Sasha and so I wasn't surprised at all.

 

“Well it’s not like he’d answer the door, and he left a key under the mat so you can't blame me!” She chuckled as she gulped down a Dorito. Sasha and Connie, back when we were in highschool, would pop round for mid-night gossip. Obviously, they learned their ways to enter. After a couple of bangs, thuds and broken ornaments, I started leaving spare keys under the mats or buried in a plant pot. I guess, after the wistful years that we faded apart, I kept the key hidden under that tatty old 'Welcome' mat in habit. Habits never really go. They hide beneath your skin and control you, aimlessly or with a thought-out plan, they could bring back memories and things you've tried to hide in the past.

 

“Jean, we really missed you.” Sasha stated a second time. Her voice was bubbly and fun, but still with that deep undertone that proved she could sound mature, but didn't want to. Well, even if she did want to, it wasn't in her nature. There was also an amount of melancholy in her voice too.

 

“You could have contacted me,” I patted her head, I wanted to shout a bit, question why they left and why they weren't there when I needed them, but I kept those things hidden away for the time being, “but you’d better do some explaining or I’m calling the police for breaking and entering.” She laughed in response.That hearty laugh I loved the most.

 

Before I knew it, I was making them tea and crumpets too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

I met Connie and Sasha in Year Two of Primary School. Sasha had short, wild red hair, while Connie had his signature buzz-cut. I was different to everyone from the very beginning. I wasn’t able to socialize with the other children at school and instead sat and drew. People were often scared of me because I had a permanent look of anger sewn against my skin. It’s horrible to look so dreadful that people are physically terrified of you.

 

One day I was sat on an isolated bench away from the other kids when Sasha and Connie first came into my life. She raised her little hands to my face and grabbed my cheeks, “Hey Connie look at this guy, his face is weird!” She giggled and swiped a lock of red hair from her face. Connie came right up close to me, his nose almost touching mine, “Oh yeah, he looks like a horse.” They both keeled over and laughed. I slammed my sketchbook shut and glared at them. Sasha jumped forward again and held out…a boiled potato, “Here, have a bite, you’re allowed it because I like you.”

 

After that I saw more and more of the potato girl and the baldy. They said it was _cool_ that I liked to write and draw. They said that I’d get _loads_ of friends if I kept doing it. They said that it _didn’t_ matter if I liked being alone, because that made me special. They said they would _always_ be friends with me.

 

There were only three high schools in Trost, Connie and Sasha went to one closer to their houses. Trost was a big city, I should have seen it coming. Although I had grown up with them, I didn’t feel so sad about leaving them. After all, we’d surely talk to each other. And we did, we met up, talked about our lives, had sleepovers and celebrated each others birthdays. Those few years were distant, but they existed for the most part.

 

However, after Year 11, 3 years after meeting Eren, Connie and Sasha moved to a college up in Lancashire. Things went downhill from there and I had no one there to cry on. The last memory I have of them was sometime in the late years of College, when I had no one left who loved me, I found Connie and Sasha on Facebook. They both were in a relationship, to no one's surprise, but had a small apartment rented a mile or so away from the Trost border in Ilfracombe. Fucking Ilfracombe, and yet neither had bothered to come and see me. I kicked them out my life after that.

 

But here they were, sat at my breakfast bar eating Tesco's finest crumpets.

 

Sasha inhaled her crumpets and pinched one of Connie’s too, despite having eaten a family bag of Doritos. “Jean, we’re sorry.” Sasha mumbled through her crumpet filled mouth, “I didn’t realize that…when we left...we thought Eren would stay with you. God, what happened to make you so introverted?!”

 

I almost told her that she and Connie were part of it too. It wasn't just Eren.

 

“Introverted? I'm introverted? I had friends once, they were called Connie and Sasha, but they _left_." I feel myself spit at them.

 

“Jean, please.” Connie said quietly, "What about Eren? Where the hell did he go to? Tell us everything."

 

Tell them? God, that story would take me years to read out. It wasn't exactly a bedtime tale. It was hard enough telling my parents, never mind Connie and Sasha or _anyone_ for that matter. Honestly, I felt shocked that what he had asked of me was even a plausible demand.

 

"If you'd have fucking _stayed_ with me I might have told you all the shit that was going on. I've had to figure all this out by _myself_ , you idiots. All I've got is a _theory_ , I don't even have proper answers. I'm just holding onto a life right now, I'm barely living." I hissed at them, there were tears in both their eyes. They had to feel guilty. They _had_ to.

 

“Shit!” Connie whimpered, "Sasha and I are both...fucking twats Jean. We made a massive mistake and I understand it's going to take a long time for you to forgive us."

 

Sasha then inhaled and joined in, "You're going to have to trust us again Jean. We want to be a part of your life again. We're sorry. So sorry."

 

"I'm so...I'm...really _lonely_." I felt my words like Velcro on my tongue, hard to peel off. My eyes were glassy and glared into theirs like black holes.

 

"Where'd the old Jean go? What the fuck did Eren do to get rid of your bratty, asshole personality?" Connie laughed forcefully.

 

“Yeah, I want _him_ back!” Sasha whined, a sadness in her voice, "I miss the old Jean!"

 

Trust me, I wanted to be bratty, selfish and pissy again. If there was anything that could make me seem more human then I wanted it. Desperate measures.

 

“I’m still Jean, I think, I'm just...a loner,” They didn’t reply but they both looked teary, “Why did you come back?”

 

“Guilt, what else?" Sasha choked, "And my cousin Ymir is dating this girl called Historia. The three of us met up, and Historia mentioned something about you getting all dizzy and throwing up and running away from people when they talk to you. I told Connie and, well, we came here as quick as possible. Jean, why?” Sasha looked as though she would burst into more tears any second.

 

Well, I didn't throw up and run on an every day basis. I could go shopping and talk to little old ladies and whatnot. I was just ill that day and it felt like the pressure was being piled right up on my stomach.

 

“Sasha, I really don’t know. I want to be able to talk to people normally. I want to be able to be part of society but…I can’t. I can’t trust people. They make me sick. I hate it!”

 

"We take blame, it's our fault, dude," Connie sniffed, "And by the looks of it, Eren's too."

 

Connie and Sasha smiled in sync and leant forward giving me another hug. Connie opened his mouth to talk, “Jean…me and Sasha aren’t far away. We are back in Trost now, East Side," he added, "and we’re going to be here for you whenever you need us. I promise. Will you let us help you? Please?"

 

I smiled, nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

* * *

 

 

Connie and Sasha slept over that Saturday night. I remember seeing my Father smile a genuine smile when he saw them again. He was probably proud as hell that his son was finally socializing. We watched a few episodes of American Horror Story, which Connie pissed himself at, and ate some homemade trifle. We exchanged numbers and _friended_ each other on Facebook. I even let them laugh at the three contacts I had on my phone, two of which were my parents. They left rather early the next day, something about having dinner at Sasha’s Parent’s house. I was surprised that after they left I felt a bit lonely. I assumed I'd be used to it. 

 

In order to make use of my time that Sunday Morning, I grabbed an old sketchbook and pencil. Sitting at the table I tried to conjure an idea of something to draw. I spent minutes just tapping at the page, munching on some of Sasha’s surprisingly tasty unopened Doritos and humming along to _Blitzkrieg Bop_. My phone started buzzing. My initial thought was to not answer it. But then I thought for a second.

 

Well it can’t be Mother; she’d surely call on the landline.

 

It could be Connie or Sasha? But then again, why would they call after just leaving?

 

I managed to nerve up the courage and press the answer button.

 

“Jean!” A girl cried. Historia. _Thank god._

 

“Hello, Historia.” I spoke bravely.

 

“Oh my god are you okay?!” Her voice was so shaky and squeaky that it was a challenge to decipher her words.

 

“So, um, how come you called?”

 

I should have expected why. I hadn't seen her in a week, she was probably worried restless about me.

 

But her answer was unexpected, “I want to meet up with you.”

 

* * *

 

I looked through the window of Kaffihús and spotted Historia sat reading and sipping away at a cup of coffee. If I weren’t gay, she’d totally be my type.

 

It was a panicking experience walking into the Café, but I did it anyway, knowing that a possible friend sat waiting for me inside. The place smelled like fresh coffee, another smell I goddamn loved. The walls were painted baby blue, snowflakes printed around the room on the paper of the walls, posters and paintings hung up wherever they could. There was a large glass refrigerator joined to the counter filled with fresh pastries, tarts, cakes and puddings. The building was pretty much empty and the tables that were filled had mostly middle-age women probably in some Adult Reading Session. There were mostly waitresses, but there were the few waiters too. One, I saw, looked in his late twenties. He was very tall and had a similar undercut to mine but gelled back in a way I couldn’t tell if it was gross or sexy. Something even funnier was his eyebrows. They were like slugs. _Gigantic_ slugs.

 

The only other waiter I could see was just about as tall as me. He was _very_ hot. And I put that lightly. His shirt was slightly tight and left a gap between the top of his trousers and hem of the shirt, underneath lay a freckle-scattered V-line and small happy trail. _Ah, his freckles_. He had a cluster across his sun-kissed face. His smile spoke a thousand words as he handed an old lady a pot of tea, asking her how she was. The stranger thing was that I recognized him...those dark locks of hair were familiar.

 

I carried on walking over to Historia, who was sat watching me now. “So, I see you’ve spotted Marco,” She giggled. _Marco?_ Oh, _Marco_.

 

“Shit.”

 

She smiled sympathetically, “You want to talk to him?”

 

I shook my head violently, “I will, Historia, but just being here is hard enough. I don’t want to talk to him as well as that.” I had worked up a lot of courage to leave the house. Walking down the street was hard. Walking past other people was hard. Breathing the same air as other people was hard. I was in no position to socialize with Mr. Freckles. Though, I would talk to him at some point because I had made a decision. And I wasn't giving up.

  
We chatted for a while. She showed genuine concern about me. I had questions thrown at me about my health, if I was eating well, if I was OK...general Mumsy stuff. She kept raising her little hand to my forehead to check my temperature was okay before getting back to her hot chocolate. The window of Kaffihús was frosty in the corners. I saw the small glares from Marco in the reflection but ignored them. He didn't come over.

 

“So I hear that Sasha visited with her boyfriend?” She asked though she knew the answer, it bugged me when people did that.Though it was hard to be annoyed at Historia.

 

“Mhmm,” I nodded, “I didn’t realize you knew Sasha.”

 

“I don’t really, but my girlfriend does. She's Sasha's cousin.”

 

“So you’re gay then?” The question escaped my lips involuntarily.

 

“A _passionate Homo_ , yes. Oh Jean, did you think you had a _chance_ with me?” She joked, seemingly very amused at her line.

 

“Ha, no, I don’t _do_ ‘girls’.” I grinned. I was amused with myself too.

 

“I do.” Historia winked seductively; earning a cringe on my side.

 

“Well, Miss. Passionate Homo, you gonna tell me why you wanted to talk?” I wanted to go home. Sure, talking to her wasn’t nerve wrecking, but I didn’t want Freckles to come and attempt another conversation with me.

 

“I have two things to say: Number One – Will you finish this?” She pulled out a small canvas from her bag, the canvas I had drawn on in Art Class, the half finished sketches of her. I blushed embarrassedly.

 

“Why?” I questioned.

 

“Because, they are really good, and I want it to go on my shelf at home. It could be…a symbol of our friendship. You know, a _little treasure_ between us gays.”

 

“Historia, why would a portrait of _you_ be a symbol of _our_ gayness?” She grabbed her stomach and laughed over-dramatically.

 

“Jeaaan. Please? I’d just love to see the finished product.” I agreed with an ‘okay’ kind of nod and she began with the second thing.

 

“Will you do the assignment? With Marco?”

 

I looked over at the freckled saint as he frothed up another cappuccino. He was a little bit taller that me, and a hell of a lot more toned than me. But he had a friendly smile. He wasn’t someone scary, or someone that could intimidate me. I’d made a promise to myself. I wanted everything to go my way and to go smoothly. I'd give it a shot.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The next day was Monday. It. Was. Freezing. I could have sworn that some holy entity blessed me with good fortune because Monday was a day with no classes. The entire University had no heating too so trust me when I say it was like skinny-dipping in the Antarctic.

 

Once again, I grabbed my leather-back sketchbook to make use of time. I had to finish the sketches of Historia, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. On an empty page of a sketchbook, I’d usually draw my parents or maybe Sasha and Connie. I mean, I _had_ drawn Eren, being goddamn beautiful as he was, about 8000 times, but I feared that if I drew him again things would only end badly.

 

Just like it did.

 

After soliloquizing for ten minutes about Eren and various other _Jean-ish_ thoughts, I decided to draw Marco. I hadn’t even properly looked at Marco, but somehow I felt as though my finished product was accurate to the memory. I’d gotten down the freckles, that I mentally noted as the most important thing to draw. I managed to remember how his upper body smoothed down to his wide torso and small freckled hips. How the tips of his V-line peaked over the hem of his trousers.

 

The rest of the day was spent by eating, baking, playing my old piano, taking photos of random shit, and, of course – Thinking about Marco. Father arrived home early that day, around 6pm I think. Of course, the pre-winter sky was pitch black by then so it felt late. He decided we’d have pizza that night, well, not any old pizza, pizza from scratch. Once the homemade dough was covered in sauces, cheeses and whatever else, he ordered me to sit at the table.

 

My Father was a serious person, sure, but ordering me to sit and talk meant something was on his mind that he desperately had to discuss. The last time had been about ending, however that ended well for the most part. The discussion, not the situation with Eren. _That_ one ended badly.

 

Anyway, we sat at the table with straight faces. In those kinds of moments you fret and think of the worst possible things. _Mother died? He has cancer? I am going to a mental asylum?_ Of course, none of those were the case, but I couldn’t really help thinking them. I just hoped it was something like, ‘Oh, good news Jean, Mother is coming home. I guess the old hag gave in!’ Heartless, but I could’ve worked with it.

 

(That's a lie. Grandmother was actually a person I loved very much, to some extent. I'd probably be upset if she died.) 

 

“Jean,” He stuttered, “I have some…bad news.” Gulping, I nodded for him to carry on, showing full engagement.

 

“Recently, things haven’t been going too well at work. I only earn half of what I used to. Jean, I can’t afford to keep this flat. I was bankrupt already and I just can’t afford to keep living like this, Son.”

 

I wasn’t too sure what he was trying to say. I was fine to move house. It’s not like we needed a three bedroom flat anyway for just two people. I smiled and grabbed his wrinkling hand.

 

Father was the kind of person to over-work himself for my sake. I was smart enough to be grateful for everything he did for me. He was always by my side, always there when i needed him, and would go to any extent to keep us living happily. Ever since Mother had left, he tried even harder, which to me seemed humanly impossible. I could see how stressed he got, I could read it in the wrinkles on his forehead, the way his eyebrows furrowed and the way his eyes looked bloodshot after missing sleep.

 

I wanted the best for our household too, even if it was just the two of us. I wanted him to have some release. I wanted to earn money too and help him out. If that involved moving to a smaller house, that was perfectly fine and I would have helped him all the way. He was my father.

 

“Papa, it’s okay. We can move house, we don’t need all this room. You should have said you were struggling, I can get a job-”

 

“No, Jean," He paused for a moment to bite through another nail before looking up at me, "we are going to France to live with your Mother and Grandmother.”

 

I don’t remember what I felt like after he had said that. I missed my Mother very much, but things had started happening the past week and I felt like I could actually get somewhere. Make some friends. I didn’t want to move away to some isolated dwelling, slap-bang in the French countryside. I wouldn’t get anywhere if that happened.

 

It was a drowning kind of feeling. The surface above me was my chance, but I couldn't reach it. No matter how hard I pushed myself to get there, I couldn't even grasp it. Even when I kicked and flailed my arms, I sank deeper and deeper.

 

All my life it had been that way. I was in a constant state of drowning.

 

But I looked up with hard eyes, the surface becoming clearer above me. Even if for a moment, there was Historia, smiling and fisting her hand in the air for moral support. There was Connie and Sasha, looking like idiots, but smiling and cheering for me. And then there was Marco. Marco held out his hand. If only I could grab it.

 

If only...I could.

 

 _I can't_ and _I could_ had different meanings. _I can't_ being the complete and utter inability to do something. _I could_ leaves a possibility for something. Maybe it was effort, maybe it was strength, maybe it was determination. _I could_.

 

That was the method of all things. I didn't have to kick and flail my arms like a drowning heart, I just had to put my foot down. I did it, I put one foot down, surely, and discovered the best thing. The floor was just below. I wouldn't sink further because I was stood on two feet, and my head could reach above the surface.

 

“Papa, I’m not going to France. I’m staying here, staying at school, staying in Trost like I’ve always done. You go to France and live with Mother; she’s your wife. I’m not going. I’ll get a job, rent a cheap one-man apartment-”

 

“Jean, please listen. Like hell you’ll be able to get a job with your...issues. I can’t leave you here alone. I can’t do that. You’re ill Jean- ”

 

There it was again. The drowning feeling. Like weeds at the bottom of a lake, wrapping around my feet and pulling me down as an icy cover forms over the surface of the water. It was eating me whole. Drowning me.

 

No, I couldn't drown. I knew I could do it. I found the floor again and slammed my foot to make a point.

 

“I am not ill. I’m still shaken up, okay? Let me stay here. I’ll call three times a day if you need me too. I can get a job, I promise. Papa, I made a friend. I have Connie and Sasha back now. I can do this, I know I can!” I had slammed my palms against the table. The oven started beeping and a scent of fresh tomato pizza had spread across the room, "Don't...please don't...stop me when I'm so close to starting over."

 

Father seemed to look at me with teary eyes. He bit through another nail and chewed on his lower lip. The line between his eyebrow appeared again. I knew he'd be confused and stressed out, but I had my feet on the floor and I couldn't let myself swallow any more water.

 

I tightened my grip around his hand and gave him a begging look. I screamed _please_ through my eyes, gritting my teeth and furrowing my eyebrows

 

“Jean, okay, I’ll think about it,” He smiled weakly and I noticed how his eyes wrinkled up. I wondered again how stressed out he was, working so many hours just to keep me happy. I wanted him to live freely again, “But for now, lets just eat.” He finished. And let me just say that the pizza I ate on that autumn-winter night was _bitter_.

 

* * *

 

 

I woke up extra early on Tuesday to prepare myself for the first day of the script-writing assignment. It was the day we were to meet our partners and get to know each other, discuss our talents and things we’d like to do. I was really nervous about the whole situation. My hands were beginning to prune from being in the water for so long, but I wasn't brave enough to grab Marco's hand and let him pull me out of it.

 

I felt my phone buzz a couple of times.

 

**> >From: Historia **

**I expect to see the finished drawing soon, Jean! :)  
**

****Get a glass of coffee; you need to be awake today x** **

**  
**

**> >From: Historia**

**And wear something less…scruffy. Impressions count! Marco is surprisingly stylish! xx  
**

 

She sounded like my Mother. I chuckled to myself. I couldn't muster up a sarcastic reply - yes, I know, that's something I was usually fantastic at - so I pondered something else to send back to her. After all, I - Jean Kirschtein - was the master of sass. That sounds really sad actually...

 

**> >To: Historia**

**Its no surprise, he's Italian. (pretty sure they're ALL stylish there...)  
**

  
**  
** It didn't take long before my little, ancient mobile buzzed again.

**> >From: Historia**

**Aren't French guys too? I have high hopes in you ;) Good luck** **Jean xx**

**  
**

I chuckled at her message. I hoped to god that Marco would forget his first impression of me. Not that there was much to get to know, but I hoped he could know it.

 

I was the last one to class that day. I earned a grumpy smile from Brzenska, and a Cheshire cat grin from the one and only Historia. Brzenska had said the drama class would arrive as soon as the register had been filled; after all, it’s safer to know when students are in or not in case of the non-existent school fires that are always told will happen.

 

After tapping my fingers nervously on the table for a while, there was a knock at the door. _Shit_. I, once again, smiled at Historia who mouthed ‘Do your best!’. They walked in. The class, like our own, was small. They were the top set drama class so there were only few. The first person to walk in was an extremely tall brown-haired guy. He looked a bit sloppy, still with a bed-head and part of his top untucked at the back of his trousers. He let out a small giggle before swaying over to one of my class members, Reiner. I only knew that because he was such a character that you couldn't forget it after hearing. Plus, and calm down when you hear this, I had actually talked to him a couple of times. Though, it was only him snorting at my band t-shirts or asking me when a piece of work was due.

 

Tall-guy sat instinctively next to Reiner and muttered something before harshly pulling him into a kiss, to my surprise. _Looks like I’m not the only homo here then_. Some other people sauntered in painfully slowly before being pushed out the way by a tall freckled female. The girl looked alike to Sasha in a few ways, a similar hair colour and head shape. Though, she had freckles like Marco's. Something Sasha lacked, I guess.

 

“RIA!” She yelled and ran over to Historia animatedly, “Ah! This is going to be awesome!” She cheered and wrapped a pair of strong arms around the poor girl laying sloppy kisses all over her face. I remembered Historia mentioning something about her girlfriend and how she was Sasha's cousin. That explained the resemblance between the excitable pair, and also the fact that the girl was sticking her tongue down Historia's throat.

 

“Ymir! People are watching!” Historia giggled. _When did the lesson turn into a gay fest?_ Everyone had been paired up rather quickly and I enjoyed just watching everyone, staring at how humans are supposed to act. It took me a while to realize Marco hadn’t even arrived. I didn’t question anything, and instead just sat there gazing at everyone for what felt like hours, most likely about ten minutes. I noticed Historia walking towards me with a happy Ymir trailing behind.

 

“Where’s Marco?” She asked me with her shining blue eyes. I jolted in my seat when Ymir came closer. Historia gave me a reassuring look as if to say Ymir was harmless. I gulped, shrugged my shoulders and muttered something like ‘Dunno.’

 

“Perhaps he’s caught in traffic,” She suggested and I agreed, “You finished the sketches of me, Jean?” At that moment Ymir lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar.

 

I turned two shades of blue and I knew she could feel my frantic heart wobbling in my chest.

 

“Eh? So you’re the anti-social creep who’s painting drawings of my Ria?! Trying to steal her?!? Waddya have to say for yourself?!” She snapped harshly. I just sat there not really knowing what to reply. I held my mouth open wide and gulped slightly. Ymir kept a comedic angry face. _  
_

 

“Ymir! Firstly, he isn’t ‘painting drawings’, that doesn't really make sense, and secondly, Jean is just a friend. Both of us are gay so I’m pretty sure a relationship wouldn’t go too well.” Ymir let go and gave a little apology. She pouted her upper lip, very alike to Sasha, when she felt guilty.

 

There was a brief silence until she questioned, “S’Marco your boyfriend or somethin’?” Ymir asked lazily as I sat back down and decided to attempt a reply.

 

“Nah, I’ve never even spoken to him.” I said in a monotone voice that lacked any human-ness to it. No one pointed it out to me though.

 

“Ah, I thought maybe you’d had a fight or some shit.”

 

“Ymir, do you have any modesty?” Historia joined in, “Anyway, I’m sure he’ll get here soon enough. Jean, what’re you going to do your script about?”

 

Surprisingly enough, I had actually thought about that. “Grief, or maybe something motivating. I don't know what Marco's into, but he seems like a happy guy so I dunno if he'll want to do something sad, you know?"

 

Historia widened her eyes, “Nice, you could make something awesome with the topic of grief. But yeah, Marco is a pretty happy person, he’d definitely prefer the second choice.” I nodded and smiled at her.

 

“What are you doing?” I asked. Historia looked like she was about to open her mouth but didn’t get a single chance as Ymir interrupted her.

 

“Love!” Ymir gazed upwards dramatically, “Hate!” She faked getting slapped, “Despair!” She looked down and pulled a very accurate face of utter sadness, “Revival!” She reached up, grabbed the air as if it was a last thread of hope and pulled it desperately towards her chest. She held that position, hand to heart, gazing to the floor, for a few seconds before grinning madly and looking down at me, “Or something like that.”

 

Historia giggled and clapped for her girlfriend and a few praises could be heard from around the room towards Ymir’s little performance.

 

“Well, it seems you’ll have no problems in the acting department,” I complimented her second handedly and then added, “And I’m sure Historia is an awesome writer too.”

 

“Yep! Historia is an amazing writer! She can write things of all kinds! I’ve read diaries, books, poems, scripts and even a few _kinky_ pieces too,” Historia blushed crimson red, “One time she even wrote one about  _u_ _s_ and-” To Historia’s glory, Ymir was interrupted by a knock at the door. Then he walked in.

 

He was wearing a black and white, striped, V-neck t-shirt underneath a casual black blazer. He had expensive looking jeans on that looked almost brand new, a pair of new looking black converse and a red scarf to top of the look. I almost wanted to pop a French beret on his head considering how stereotypically Parisian he looked. I loved it, and honestly, I’m sure Mother would have too. I noticed a small cast around his arm as he gazed around the classroom. He finally spotted me and walked forward nervously. I guess I wasn’t the only one shitting myself about the meeting.

 

He only managed to get halfway across the classroom before the bell rang signaling that we need to head to our second lessons. Historia looked over at me before putting a hand on my shoulder, leaning over and whispering in my ears, “You’re in the same art class, good luck.” She gave my hand a squeeze. I nodded, thanking her, and stood up.

 

We didn’t say a word while walking to the art department. I trailed behind him, but a few meters back making sure he wasn’t too close. I took a cheeky look at his nape. He had a small cluster of freckles on his neck. His undercut was a lot neater than mine. He looked like a rich boy. If he were my friend, I’d tell him that, but he wasn’t, so I could only think it. He sat down awkwardly next to where I sat in the Art Room. I joined him a few minutes later, grabbing a pencil and pulling out my sketchbook to avoid sitting like a lemon. It was free period, so I was able to do whatever art I wanted that lesson.

 

“Jean?” I grimaced. He was speaking to me. Yes, his voice was extremely hot (and _Italian_ ), but he had pronounced my name wrong and looking back on it, he’d pronounced it wrong the first time too. I turned and faced him nervously. I took in his features. Nothing on his face seemed sharp. He had a rounded nose and soft droopy eyes. His lips were plump and his jaw was smooth. He had a look of friendliness, unlike my perpetual scowl.

 

In fact, I noticed that my heart was only beating frantically because I was letting it do so. I could control it. I could look up towards the surface and see that he meant no harm. He wasn't the plants in the depths trying to drag me down, he was trying to help me out.

He was trying...to talk to me.

 

“Ah,” I squeaked, “Um, well, it’s _‘Jsh-ahn’_ , not ‘Gene’,” I spoke as loudly as possible but it still seemed like a whisper. I knew that wasn't the best way to speak to him. I could have said 'hello, nice to meet you!' at least. Though, he just blushed a little at that, embarrassment probably, and then decided to try again.

 

“Jean?” He said correctly, it was like his voice was designed to say my name, smooth, soft and sexy. He had the French ‘J’ sound nailed.

 

“Y-yes?” I replied, slightly sarcastically. His face lit up brightly into a dorky grin. I got a closer look at all his freckles. Under the eyes and to the tip of his nose, higher, stopping beneath his brow bone. A scatter on his chest and around his collarbones, it was like the gods of perfection had especially crafted him. His cheeks were slightly pink tinted and the tips of his fringe lay casually against his sun-kissed skin.

 

“Are you French?” He asked between repeating my name a few times.

 

I scanned him up and down before saying, “Half. But _you’re_ the French looking one right now.” I smirked. For some reason, I felt comfortable talking to him.

 

“I guess that's what I was aiming for,” He chuckled, brushing a hand through his dark hair, “But I’m Italian.” I didn’t want to talk about our cultures and family life yet, I wanted to savor our conversation topics, so I pulled a face showing I’d heard him, and changed the topic.

 

“So, how come you were late?” I asked.

 

He pointed clumsily at his bandaged forearm, “I broke my wrist. Fell over and landed on it awkwardly. My friend sent me to the A+E, they wrapped it up and I ended up in school late.” I have to say, the bandaging didn’t look very professionally done...I was pretty sure you needed casts when you broke a bone, but it was something at least.

 

I was the kind of person that stuck with first impressions. I remember people by the opinion I first thought of them. Sasha was greedy, Connie was bald, Historia was an angel and Marco was a clumsy dork. The way he carried himself when walking seemed unwieldy, like he was in a constant daydream and about to trip over anything. It was cute.

 

“O-oh,” I replied, “You okay?” He nodded and smiled.

 

“Jean, I’m sorry about last time I talked to you-”

 

I knew where he was going with his words. I didn't want an apology from him when he did nothing. It was my own stupid issues that caused me to run away that time, not him. He was simply trying to talk to me. That's all.

 

“It’s okay, I’m stupid, you didn’t know. I’m just stupid. It’s fine.”

 

He bit his lip for a short moment. Probably thinking about what to say.

 

“You aren’t stupid. Everyone gets afraid. And I’m sure you have reasoning for it all.” I felt myself blush at that. It had been like, what, five minutes and he already seemed to understand that I’m not just mental. I did have reasoning. _More_ than enough reasoning, “Anyway, if you ever need anything I’ll be here. Okay? An apology for scaring you.” He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and gave a quirky side grin. I made a mental note to draw him with that expression. I nodded and smiled.

 

My hand was practically out of the water at this point. My fingertips were breaking through the surface. It was like some kind of gravitational pull was leading my fingertips to his.

 

“So, I saw you working in Kaffihús, as in I was there, for coffee, and saw you, as in working, like…a job.” _Good one Jean, you’re as smooth as a road full of pot-holes._ I didn't fully know where I was trying to take the conversation. Well I did, I had a big idea, painted out on a canvas right before me. But I didn't know _how_ I would get to where I needed too. I didn't know how to ask him of it.

 

He chuckled in response, “I saw you there too, with Historia,” and then added sarcastically, “as in for _coffee_ , where you saw me, while having coffee, like… _to drink_.” I grimaced. Sarcasm didn’t suit him and that made it all the more funny, and cringe-worthy too.

 

I squinted my eyes a little, attempting to look unembarrassed. He poked his tongue out to the left only slightly between his lips. His lips curled into a mischievous grin and his eyes became the most...adorable crescent shapes.

 

“And you were checking Erwin out.” He gave a cheeky grin. It was like a fucking slap in the face. I didn’t know who Erwin was, but I definitely did check out the waiters in Kaffihús. Come to think of it, there were only two guys there. The one with the big eyebrows and Marco. I assumed that the eyebrows guy was Erwin then. The worst part is that if Marco saw me checking out Erwin, he probably saw me checking out him too. _Shit_. Then I responded.

 

“Fuck you!" I joked _._ It was an obviously terrible comeback, but it made him laugh and so I felt pleased with myself.

 

He giggled, “Ha, well don't let Levi see you checking Erwin out, he'll make you suffer, and I mean that in every way possible,” He pulled an over dramatic face of fear. My first thought should have been something like _Are you fucking kidding me, why is the whole population of Trost homosexual?!_ but I didn't. My first though was that I recognized the name Levi, but I couldn't remember who he was. All I knew was that his name seemed to make me so angry. Marco brought me back to the real world when he began speaking, “Anyway, you should come again sometime. Maybe I’ll make a free coffee for you. That’d work as an apology right?”

 

That's when I came up with a daring idea. Marco seemed like the confident type. He had friends, he smiled, had a job. Yes, a job. And he was willing to do me a favor. Kaffihús, being Trost’s most popular café, surely offered part-time jobs with a decent amount of money. More than enough money to pay for a Trost, one-man apartment.

 

“Marco.” I stated.

 

 I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It felt like my lungs were beginning to empty themselves of the water I'd swallowed. Marco was even clearer through the surface.

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

I studied the situation. The lake was shallow and my feet were firmly on the ground. I had kicked away all those plants that were grabbing me and my hand...it reached out to him.

 

“I want a favor.” He looked at me with full engagement. I furrowed my eyebrows, which probably looked very needy.

 

When our fingers finally touched, it felt like a promise.

 

“What would you like me to do?” He smiled gently.

 

I was being pulled out of the water, and the whole time I couldn't wait to be surrounded by my friends and family, and to be in Marco's saintly arms.

 

“ _Help me_.”

 


	3. November Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If we could take the time  
> To lay it on the line  
> I could rest my head  
> Just knowin' that you were mine  
> All mine  
> So if you want to love me  
> Then darlin' don't refrain  
> Or I'll just end up walkin'  
> In the cold November rain
> 
> -November Rain, Guns 'n' Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC USED TO BE CALLED "Ghost" BUT I CHANGED IT BECAUSE OF CONFUSION WITH ANOTHER FIC SO SORRY FOR ANY CONFUSION!!
> 
> Forgive any mistakes! It's late, I gotta get this posted before my Mum (stfu i'm [insert young age here]!) sends me to bed. Will edit this tomorrow, my promise to you guys :3
> 
> Gahhh tons more Marco. Heh, this is a happy chapter. *remembers the first section* whoops maybe not all happy...but that's only the first part okay?!?
> 
> Also, I have nothing against Avenged Sevenfold, I don't think they are emo. In fact, they are awesome! Listen to every song I mention in this fic, okay? Even if it's MCR. *secret crush* 
> 
> Excuse my crappy French, and correct me cause I'll be needing it for my exams and all.
> 
> I'm pretty sure I spelled lasagne wrong in this too. PLEASE TELL ME HOW! 
> 
> Leave comments and stuff and just keep being awesome. 
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)
> 
> Contact me on kik @Shougo_wish about the fic like my good friend Lynn did, a million kudos' to her.

One of my biggest fears, as well as human interaction, was living alone.

 

Once when I was fourteen, my parents went on holiday to Norway. Most people thought it was cruel to leave me behind and not take me with them, but it was my own choice. They worked to the bone looking after me and thankfully I was a good enough son to appreciate their efforts. Though I had only just turned fourteen, I was still trusted to look after myself for the three weeks they were away. I was a trustworthy person. I refused to lie to anyone, I never planned on drugs or alcohol, and I had no reason to even want to run away.

 

I remember them leaving me with a debit card topped up with about £500 Though I was told I shouldn't have to spend over £100 on food for three weeks. I felt like a grown up during the time they were away. I went to a restaurant, went shopping for groceries, cooked by myself and made sure I got in bed by 11. Connie and Sasha came over quite a lot that week which was fun considering they didn’t go to my high school. I never organized any parties, and by the second week I’d still not spent £100.

 

That week _did_ have significance in my life. On the 16 th day of my three-week lone time, something happened. I didn't wet the bed, I didn’t accidently stab someone and I wasn’t mugged. It was around the middle of the night when I heard a noise outside. It sounded like a thump, almost a loud slap, heck, more of a crunch, on the concrete. Now, my flat consisted of two flats on top of each other. My flat being the bottom one. Each flat had two floors, so in total, there were four floors.

 

In the flat above lived Allyson, a widow in her early thirties, and her two children: a 5-year-old girl named Lucie and a baby son called Theodore. My family was quite close with hers. Mother would often make too much food, on purpose, to sympathetically give some to Allyson. After all, she was still upset after loosing her beloved Husband. I think she didn’t have a job and so lived off benefits and her husbands remaining money. The poor woman was bankrupt.

 

Anyway, that night, I considered the thump perhaps a badger or cat or whatever else. That was until I sat in bed for a while listening to Theodore crying and Lucie attempting to grab her Mother’s attention, that I realized something was wrong. Though I was a little scared of the dark and being home alone, I climbed up the stairs to Allyson’s flat. I knocked on the door before having Lucie open it and give me a hug.

 

I asked her what was wrong and she explained that her brother was crying and she couldn’t find her Mother. I thought back to the thumping noise. My instinct was that Allyson had left to perhaps get Theodore some sort of food or medicine in the middle of the night, and what I’d heard was the door closing. I went into Allyson’s room to where Theodore was screeching his soul out. I noticed the window was wide open, and shut it. Theodore was probably freezing cold. I stayed with the kids for about 2 hours waiting for Allyson to return. After they had fallen asleep I thought I’d go to the nearest house to ask for some help.

 

My flat and Allyson’s were separate from the other houses and you had to drive round a hidden road to actually get to the front. I kept the door of Allyson’s flat open incase I needed to return. Slowly but surely I reached the exit of the building. It was locked from the inside. I didn’t really consider the fact that Allyson wouldn’t have been able to lock it from the inside if she had left the building. Still, I opened the door and stepped out, looking instantly back up to the window of Allyson’s bedroom, the warm glow of a bedside lamp shining through.

 

Beneath my feet was a squelching sound, and then my toe tapped something. It was so dark I hadn’t a clue what it was. I bent down and pulled out the torch on my keys. I grabbed onto something that felt like clothing and switched on the switch. Then I saw it.

 

White-eyes, irises that looked colourless. A face of utter sadness and despair. Twisted arms, snapped and broken in a sickening position. A distorted and flattened body. Bruises. Blood. The long, blonde and worn out hair of Lucie and Theodore’s Mother.

 

My instant reaction was a scream. Loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. I threw off my slipper that had trodden through the blood. I freaked out, wanting to rip off my hands that had felt her dead body. Dragged fingers through my hair violently and ran, screaming, into the apartment. Still screaming, I heard voices from outside. Knocks on my door. Phone calls. People.

 

My parents arrived home a day or two later. We attended the lonely funeral of Allyson. Lucie was told that she fell; fell to the place where their Daddy went. I don’t remember what happened to those children after that. And so, my point is that, yes, being scared of living alone and being around people was stupid for someone my age. But every fear has a cause. And I feared that if I ever lived alone, I’d witness another death, a suicide, like Allyson’s, or that something, anything, horrible would happen again. But my fear of people, that’s a whole other story.

 

This brings me back to the day where I had my first talk with Marco Bodt.

 

I asked him to help me.

 

“What is it you want help with?” He asked eagerly.

 

I prepared myself for what I was asking for. Could I really do this? It was something that I knew would change my life forever. I knew it would mean moving on, growing up and trying to build a concrete armor around myself. New experiences and changes were not my cup of tea, but I could work around those fears and hesitations, surely, and push myself harder and harder til I would eventually move on. That was my plan.

 

I parted my lips hesitantly, “I want you to help me get a job,” I gulped, “And help me find… my own apartment.” I knew I would regret it in some way or another but I figured that the only way to get rid of a fear is to do whatever you’re scared of. That way, you can realize that things don’t always go wrong and there is always a way to overcome things. I was willing to get rid of my fears, even if it meant living alone, even if it meant talking to people.

 

Never in my life had I worked a job. All experience on that part came from the chores my parents gave me with small amounts of pocket money in return. As a kid, I didn't see how much my parents actually struggled to get me that money, despite it being a fiver a month. As I grew into my teens, I realized how my Father was struggling to give me the money, and so I told him he didn't have to. I still did the jobs though.

 

I hadn't even ever considered getting a part time job before. In fact, I didn't even consider future jobs. Of course, it came to mind that eventually I'd have to pick my major and my minor for University, and that whatever I picked would end up leading to my future career. However, when I pictured myself in the future, I only ever saw myself writing novels at home or painting for galleries. Though, I knew that realistically none of that could ever happen.

 

Marco looked at me for a seconds, perhaps confused, perhaps annoyed. His face grew into a smile, to my surprise, and he thought about how he could phrase his next sentence.

 

“I can do that, Jean! We’re currently looking for another worker at Kaffihús, someone to help Petra in the kitchen.” His grin was worth £100,000,000, “And if you’re willing to take it, you won’t need to talk to the customers either.”

 

At that moment I actually felt excitement, I knew that if I replied to him, there really would be no turning back. I was already practically out of this metaphorical dream of drowning. My lungs were empty. It felt like I could just spread my wings and fly to him. To Marco. Despite there being no turning back, my mouth opened and the words came out with unexpected confidence, “I think that would be great, Marco. I’m an excellent cook after all.” My internal Sasha and Connie voices shouted, ‘That’s our obnoxious bastard, we missed you!’. I almost laughed out loud at myself for a second. Marco flailed his hand in the air ecstatically, not surprising for a drama student, and he leaned forward rapidly.

 

“That’s awesome,” He squealed, “You _have_ to cook for me then. I suck at food.”

 

Internal Historia arrived then, ‘Go on Jean, go for it, cook for him!'. Heck, it was just like my Mother had always dreamed of. Me cooking for a dark haired boy who would help me out in the kitchen even if he couldn't cook. Fuck that, though, I didn't let any novices into my kitchen. Marco could eat my food, sure, but he definitely wasn't cooking it! I looked at his delicious smile and bit my lip. I could cook for him, I really could. Maybe, just maybe, I could make another friend. Then I'd have four friends. Well, Ymir didn't really class as a friend yet, though I thought maybe I could try and talk to her more. She seemed more alike to me that Historia was.

 

I sighed but kept a wonky smile on my face. I would give it a go. I didn't really know what food Marco liked the most, but i invited him anyway, “You want to c-come,” I paused and then added very quickly, “F-for tea that is? Tonight at my house?”

 

His facial expression was so bright that it felt like a sun, “Yes! I mean, yes please, I’d love that, Jean,” Then he remembered something, “Ah, but I work today…”

 

“Not with that arm.” I pointed at the scruffy cast, my voice sounding surprisingly confident, “What’d happen if you slipped boiling water on an old lady. You either call up, or we visit later to tell them you aren’t working and I ask for a job as well.”

 

“Oh, okay. Thank you. Well I have German class after this and then I go home. What about you?” He asked.

 

I smiled at the idea of Marco speaking German. I was fluent in two languages, English and German. I guess German came naturally to me after all the years spend with my Father and how many similarities it has to English. French, however, was easy for me to learn, but I wasn't fluent. Of course that disappointed my Mother, but I just told her I'd keep going. The hardest thing was that French and German have no similarities, like at all. French and Spanish do. German and Dutch do. But not German and French. Weirdly though, they both have similarities to English. I guess with a little more effort I'd be able to learn them. And something made me thing about learning Italian.

Well anyway, German was my favourite language. And Marco had a fucking sexy voice. There was always something I loved about the deep, throaty sounds of Germanic languages. They were pretty to me. And I guess it just all made me wish I could hear Marco speaking German.

 

“I've got French class. Want to meet me at the gates and we’ll go get me a job?” This was the very final question that would determine everything. What Marco answered would change my life. I knew that. I was fucking hyper-aware of that. I felt this fear and this ecstacy at the same time. Marco felt like a comfort. god, it felt like I was in his arms and he was a barrier.

 

“Sure, I’ll drive us, I have a car. Are you sure you won’t…freak out? Boss can be pretty intimidating. Erwin too. He could _drown_ a person in those eyebrows…”

 

It was settled now. I had done it. I patted my back mentally and let out a long sigh of relief. I knew it was for the best though, finally Father could have some release and get back to his wife. Finally.

 

“I’ll be fine, I think.”

 

* * *

 

 

**> >From: Historia**

**You okay? x**

 

**> >To: Historia**

**'M Fine. Talked to Freckles.**

**> >From: Historia**

**And?**

**> >To: Historia**

**I’m going to get a job.**

**> >From Historia**

**How!? Why? :0**

**> >To: Historia**

**It’ll be fine. Gonna try Kaffihús, Marco’s helping me out. My Old Man’s having a bit of a financial crisis.**

**> >From Historia**

**Well I give you my best wishes! I know you can do it. Look how for you’ve gotten already!! Get back to lesson now, I see you over there gazing out the window!! :P**

**> >To: Historia**

**You were the one that texted me!!** **_Quel hypocrite_ ** **_!_ **

****

**> >From : Historia**

**Haha _,_** **_Bonne chance_ ** **_et au revoir_ ** **x**

**> >To : Historia**

**Thanks, talk to you later.**

I really did spend that French lesson sat gazing out of the window. It was a long hour of listening to Stephan, our teacher, ramble on about the history of France, in French. Once it was over I practically bolted out of the room. I don’t know why I was so exited to see Marco, but I will fully admit that he was all I could think about as I ran toward the gate. Most people still had classes, I was one of the few blessed with very few in a day. It was 1pm, cold, raining and my stomach growled like a savage beast. There was no sign of the freckled boy just yet. There was a chance that his class had gone on for an extra thirty minutes. The only problem was that my clothes were getting drenched through and I seriously considered just jogging over to my apartment for an umbrella.

 

The sky was a dark grey colour. It was like the sun was at war, desperate to emerge through the dark clouds and shine. November rain was melancholy yet slightly refreshing. The drops soaked through to my skin with ease, cooling me like droplets of ice. The only sounds I could hear were the cars driving in the distance, the gentle pitter-patters of the rain and the distant shouting from the girls netball team. At first I felt bad for them that they were outside in the rain, but then I remembered that I was too.

 

After fifteen minutes or so, I saw him jogging towards me, pulling an apologetic face, car keys in hand, ready to get in the dry as quick as possible. He didn’t stop, and instead grabbed my hand and pulled me over to his shiny red Audi. My Father didn’t even own a car, and yet he, still only like 21, had his very own. I sat in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

 

“Wow, you’re soaking.” I gave him a ‘no shit’ look. I had worn my nicest clothes too.

 

“Yeah. _Just a smidge_. You mind if we drop by my house quickly?” He nodded and we drove off through the cold November rain. It literally took about one minute to get to my flat. He followed me out of the car and eyed the building like it was foreign land.

 

The grey stone walls of the two-apartment block was crumbling. The empty apartment above mine had most growing on the windowsill and ivy growing over the outer wall. The gutter dripped frantically. It looked very desolate and full of misery.

 

I stepped over the small flower patch planted where Allyson had fell making sure not to tread on it, though all the flowers had died and it was covered in soggy brown leaves. I opened the door to the flat and heard Marco push out an, “O-oh,”

 

“What?”

 

He wiggled his body a bit, “Ah, um, I just didn’t expect the inside to be like this.”

“I know the outside looks a little trashy, but we like to make the inside feel more homely. I hope you weren't expecting a castle.” I grinned at his awkward, maybe even apologetic face and carried on, “Come in, no ones home at the moment. I’ll go change.” I ran up the stairs and threw of my clothing. My skin was wet too so I had to dry it off with a towel before pulling over less posh clothes that were, by far, more of my style. I ended up returning to Marco in my ‘Teenage Lobotomy’ Jumper and denim skinny jeans. He was staring out of the rain-soaked window, deep in thought. Almost like that one scene in friends where Joey looks through the glass with the water dribbling down after moving into his own apartment. Lonely, sad and...picturesque. Not many words were exchanged upon returning to his car. 

 

As we drove towards Kaffihús, he hummed away to a song I couldn’t quite remember the name of. Daringly, I reached forward and pressed the play button on the cars CD player and to my surprise, ‘Welcome To The Family’ blared out. He jumped and frantically turned to me and I keeled over and laughed.

 

“You have something against _Avenged Sevenfold_?” He frowned.

 

“Not really, I prefer older bands or indie, just didn’t expect you to like them. You seem too innocent!” I joked and he gasped.

 

“Innocent?! Jean Kirschtein you have officially offended me. I cannot believe you judge books by their cover. _Avenged Sevenfold_ may have a few...explicit tracks but I'm twenty years old! I'll have you know I'm not 'innocent' either, I'm a brilliant fighter and have a pet name fetish.” His tone was like my Mothers when telling me off, not serious at all, to the point where it was jokey, but pulling a strict face. I chuckled and flicked though the CD. Pet name fetish? That was so unnecessary in the argument. Perhaps he just assumed that would make him seem raunchy.

 

We arrived at Kaffihús as ‘Thank You For The Venom’ ended. Fucking _My Chemical Romance_. God.

 

My stomach felt slightly unsettled, but it was nothing bad.

 

“Sorry to ask again, but, are you sure you’re okay doing this?” He asked anxiously.

 

“Look, I just made you drive here with a sprained wrist, we’re going in there no matter what. Okay?” He nodded in response and we walked in. I was actually really nervous but I refused to go back. My hand shook a bit but I reassured myself that everyone would be as friendly as Marco and I would be just fine.

 

The café was quite empty, but the few people there were all students. To my surprise, the first person I saw was Ymir, dressed up in the male uniform chatting enthusiastically with another waitress. She spotted me and skipped over to Marco and I.

 

“I didn’t realize you worked here, Ymir,” I stated, without even a ‘hello’.

 

“Eh? Historia never said?” She asked but was called over by a student. Marco looked at me and smiled.

 

“Well at least you know one of the workers.” He gave a reassuring grin and took me around the counter, pulling me over to the worker that Ymir had just spoken to.

 

“This is Annie. Annie, this is Jean,” I gulped and picked up my shaky hand and attempted a wave. She just nodded and carried on with her business. Her face was the kind that appeared through with everything. She had dark bags under her blue eyes. Her mouth was flat and unamused. She looked very threatening. Marco put a hand on my shoulder.

 

“Sorry, this must be really nerve wrecking. Here,” He held out his hand and I grabbed it instinctively, earning a friendly squeeze, “Come. I’ll try to avoid conversation.”

 

Maybe my problem was that I saw every person I met as an enemy. I would instantly think of everything they could do to hurt me, instead of smiling and wondering what a good friend they could be. I needed to stop thinking like the monsters could take me over, control me and eat away at my skin. My demons were overpowering but with a stab of a steel knife they could dissolve into the air, unable to return. With my hand in Marco's, he gave me that little extra confidence.

 

* * *

 

 

The owner of Kaffihús was a cheery, genderless person called Hanji. Hanji was a lot older than us, but only in their early thirties. Hanji had run Kaffihús for only a short while with their girlfriend, Petra. There were only six workers there altogether. Hanji never usually worked in the cafe, they handled the financial parts of the cafe. They bought the cafe after University with Petra. I guess it had always been their dream to own a cafe. Anyway, the only person in charge of the cooking was Petra, because the last guy left unexpectedly. Therefore, It was a lucky coincidence that I was asking for the job.

 

“This is where the food is made. Petra is the only one in charge of food right now so give her some company!” Hanji giggled and Petra smiled over at me.

 

The kitchen was decorated sweetly. Cream walls and neutral brown surfaces. Ingredients were stacked in the cupboards. Apparently the kitchen was cleaned daily by one of Hanji and Petra's dearest friends, he had some weird talent in the custodial arts. He clearly did a brilliant job. The room was pristine other than the flour covered surface where Petra stood, rolling out some pastry.

 

“Can you cook, Jean?” She asked and I nodded ever so slightly.

 

“He sure can! I mean, I’ve never eaten his food, but I will tonight. Well he’s French too.” Marco cheered, answering for me. I saw the strange enthusiasm in his eyes. I couldn't help but smile. I'd have to make something really good to live up to my expectations. Of course I could do that. I'm Jean Kirschtein, for Christ's sake!

 

“Half.” I corrected him, “Half French, Half German.”

 

Hanji beamed, “So cool! _Delicioso!_ ”

 

“Well that’s Spanish, but my food _is_ indeed delicious.” I smirked, inner Sasha agreeing excitedly. On a whole, I felt like working with Petra would be fine. She was sweet, calm and overall friendly. The workspace was comforting too. It smelled of warm pastry and vanilla with hints of coffee coming in from the counter. The recipes were easy, to me, and ones I’d enjoy making. Even so, all I wanted was to go home.

 

Still holding Marco’s hand, I squeezed it gently, turning my head to the door. He took the hint and gave a squeeze back.

 

“Hanji, we’re gonna take off now.” He smiled.

 

“Okay boys, _have fun in space_!” They replied.

 

“ _Ha. Ha_. Very funny, Goodbye.” He snorted. His eyes turned to me.

 

I took a deep breath, “Thank you everyone. I’ll be looking forward to joining.”

 

* * *

 

 

I inhaled the smell of fresh Lasagne as it cooked. I wanted to cook a pasta dish for Marco, _obviously_ not because he was Italian. The sheets of pasta were made from scratch in the Kirschtein household, as Father refused to buy it ready-made. Every part of our meals were made from scratch. The sauces, the bread, the pastry. I loved it.

 

Marco sat by the bookshelf picking out books and poems in French and German.

 

He read the German ones silently, to my despair.

 

“’ _La poésie vraie est dans l'harmonie des contraires_ ’…What’s that mean Jean?”

 

“’True poetry is in the harmony of opposites’…I think. What even is it that you’re reading?” I chuckled. His accent was terrible, more Italian sounding, but it was cute in it’s own way. (Honestly, I couldn't blame him for sounding Italian considering he _always_ sounded Italian. I mean, you can't loose the accent of your native language very easily after all - It still affected his English!).

 

“Don’t ask me, not a clue, I just think all the words look pretty. Wish I’d taken French class.” He gazed up.

 

“Trust me, you don’t, Stephan is a bastard. My least favorite teacher. Anyway, what do you do other than German, Art and Drama- that’s if you actually do anything else…”

 

He blushed a bit. I handed him a glass of lemonade and told him to come and join me on the sofa as we waited for the food to cook. Being around him really made me realize just how beautiful he was. He had asked to take a shower and let his clothes dry for a bit from the rain, and so was sat on my sofa in a pair of boxers, shirtless. Though he was slim, his build was strong and his hips were a little wider than my frail and narrow ones. His abs were prominent and coated in small freckles, the kind you just wanted to kiss. He shaved his chest too, or maybe he was just hairless, but it showed soft, tanned skin that looked sun kissed and healthy. I’m surprised I didn't jump on him right then and there, if you know what I mean.

 

(I could go on and on about his abs, you could grate fucking cheese on them - but I didn't want to sound _too_ gay).

 

“That’s actually all I do, but I’m the…singer, in the school band too. My parents like me out the house so I try and make my spare time productive. I like to surf too.”

 

I choked on my drink. Singing? Surfing? God, they were thinks I wanted to see him do. I gave an appreciative nod, most likely blushing like crazy, and the over timer went off. I hadn’t told him what I was making and instead left him to do whatever he pleased (aka Showering, reading Mother’s books and being half naked) as I made the dinner.

 

“Oh my god, I haven’t had this in years!” He beamed, “And it smells amazing!”

 

“Hm, don’t you Italians eat pasta every day or something?” I joked as I drizzled Balsamic Glaze on my side salad.

 

“Hmm very funny, Jean,” He giggled, “I can’t cook, and my Abriana...my Mum....doesn’t cook for me so I basically live on pot noodles…” Are you fucking serious?

 

“Marco goddamn Bodt you’ll regret saying that in the Kirschtein household! Now eat that lasagne, you idiot, and I never want to hear the words ‘pot noodles’ ever again, okay?!” He keeled over and laughed before shoving a huge forkful of the food in his mouth.

 

“Holy crap!” He said, still chewing, “This is amazing!” I smiled. When Marco ate, his freckled cheeks puffed out like a little hamster. It was adorable.

 

“Beats pot noodles for sure.” I spat, non-seriously, and watched him eat the rest of his dinner as he hummed in delight.

 

They say that time goes fast when you’re having fun. I never understood that, though. Time doesn’t actually change, and you can never catch up to time, but for some reason, through smiles and happiness, you forget its limits and boundaries. It flies by like a warm breeze.

 

Although I didn’t see Marco all that much, the couple of days after our dinner together were filled with many feelings I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Fun, confidence, weightless shoulders. I met up with Connie and Sasha Wednesday night, bumped into Hanji at one point and even said ‘Hello’, I got Ymir and Marco's phone numbers and heck, I even smiled at people I didn’t know. 

 

For some reason, it still didn’t feel right, like I was pushing myself to do so. Like it was a façade. I put effort into being more social but all the while I still felt sick to the point of fainting. It’s not even like the roots of my issues were things that should really have bothered me for so long, and affected me in such a way, and I hated that I was just unable to get over what happened in the past. I wished I could live a life as carefree as Marco.

 

I decided I would start work on Friday 22nd. That was the least busy day of the week. I’ll admit – It was actually really fun. Petra was one of the loveliest people I’d ever met, like an older Historia. We had talked about our love for food mostly. She was excellent at baking, and even better at presentation. It was laid back too as most people just had drinks rather than food, and considering food was made in large batches, we didn’t actually have to do much baking. She told me stories about how she had met Hanji and how she would refuse to let anyone get in their way, especially with Hanji being non-binary because people would keep asking for their birth sex or disbelieving in the concept of non-cis genders. Apparently Petra's parents got really angry about the situation, as they believed in only two genders or something and thought Petra was gay. Petra wasn't gay, she was pansexual, and loved Hanji, who wasn't even a girl. It was even hard for Petra sometimes, not knowing how to address Hanji to people, or what pronouns to use. They were a strong couple though and I loved seeing it. They worked around these boundaries and tried their hardest to stay strong. It was really beautiful.

 

There wasn’t much to say for Erwin. Everything he did and said was with the exact same facial expression, and Hanji often shouted at him for whatever reason, but he was okay. Not that I talked to him, it’s just an assumption. Annie also never seemed to show emotion but she was still kind and gave some sort of smile to me a few times. Ymir…well she ate all of the food. I learned to realize that anyone related to Sasha was a savage animal when it came to anything edible.

 

Then there was Marco. He loved old people and kids, smiling for them with his god given grin every time they walked in. He also liked to pinch a cookie once in a while with Ymir. He always hummed as he worked and I realized that I wasn’t the only one comforted by his melodies. Even if he might’ve been humming MCR, it was still beautiful. His hair was light and fluffy, the kind you’d want to pull your fingers through and play with until you both fell asleep. I noticed that he even had freckles on the top of his hands, though they were small and light coloured. He liked to tap his fingers a lot, especially when there was nothing to do. His lips were a light rosy pink colour and quite full. They looked soft and gentle and smoothed out into the greatest aforementioned Marco smiles. His eyes wrinkled a bit at the corners when he grinned. Honestly, it would have looked perfectly normal if he had a pair of goddamn angel wings sticking out of his back.

 

After Kaffihús had closed, I was treated to a _cheers_ and a thanks for joining. Even Historia had come and joined for it. I guessed that it was what every staff got for joining, but still, I felt special.

 

“So, when do you plan on moving out?” Marco asked. It was 9pm and everyone had decided to wrap the toast up. Marco offered to give me a lift home as Kaffihús was on the other side of Trost. I really hated walking around alone in the dark. Call me a baby; I just didn’t want to discover anymore suicide victims.

 

“Shit- I haven’t even thought about that,” I cursed, “Pap- I mean _Dad_ , um, he doesn’t know about my job yet. Maybe if I tell him tonight I’ll be able to find an apartment in the next week…” Marco giggled. My Father hated being called ‘Dad’, it was either Papa, Father or Vati. It was always embarrassing to call him any of them around another person.

 

“Down Sina Road I saw a few one-man apartments for rent. Pretty cheap too. They’re new and close to Uni so maybe you should consider them?” He quirked an eyebrow. I wanted to cuddle him and cover his face with kisses and “Thank You”’s. Luckily, the idea of just me living in a one-man apartment was starting to feel more lonely than scary, not that lonely is good, but it's better than scary. I thought about living in that one-man apartment for a short second, then looked over at Marco. What’s the point in a double bed for one guy? _Shut up Jean, no one wants to hear your useless homo fantasies, creep._

 

Sina Road was just as far as my house was from the Uni gates, but just in the other direction. With my close-minded brain, I would have never thought about that. I nodded at the savior named Marco, “Y-yeah I guess so. Good idea!”

 

Regretfully, I punched a little ‘enthusiastic’ punch in the air (about 3 inches high). What kind of dorky move was that? Trying to be manly, Jean? Marco laughed, lifting his head in the air. It was beautiful. His laugh was music. A weightless melody. “Jean, you’re a weirdo.”

 

“And you just took a wrong turn, my house is that way, dumbass.” I was proud of that one. Marco blushed, still smiling, and turned the car around smoothly but silently.

 

“Here you go, Princess. You’re castle awaits.” He widened his eyes and pulled the official face of sarcasm. I grimaced.

  
Princess? Oh god, I thought back to Marco's apparent pet-name fetish. But, you know, it didn't seem like that bad of an idea to be called Princess by Marco...

 

“Princess? Ew gross, don’t know why I was riding in _your_ carriage…” I stuck out my tongue like an ignorant kid. After all, that’s basically all I was. I hopped out of the car like it had turned to lava. I guess I was flirting.

 

“My carriage is fabulous, actually. And my carriage will arrive here tomorrow at 11 for apartment hunting.” He smiled.

 

“Ugh. 11? Its Saturday! The weekend!!” I whined.

 

“All the more reason to make use of it. Be ready, dear. And tell your _Papa_ about the job, things shouldn’t keep from family members.” He smiled and shut the door behind me. The tinted window then rolled down and I saw him once again, this time wearing a gigantic grin, “Also, you look like a horse when you whine.”

 

_Well, that's no way to talk to a Princess._

 

His car drove off into the distance. Guess it was time for an early night. I smiled a little bit. I actually did like Marco’s ‘carriage’. It actually felt nice to be called princess. I actually loved getting up early.

 

…And I’m pretty sure I looked like a horse 24/7.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol the song for this chap doesn't match (YET) but it is November for Jean and it rains and also I say November Rain somewhere in the mental dialougue so there you have my explaining. Give me and oscar, improve your ID, pull up your pants and hide the corpse WAIT WHAT. Lol jk I watch too much Onision wth.
> 
> Also Guns n Roses. 100% justifiable explanation.


	4. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can be amazing  
> You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug  
> You can be the outcast  
> Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love  
> Or you can start speaking up
> 
> Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do  
> When they settle 'neath your skin  
> Kept on the inside and no sunlight  
> Sometimes a shadow wins  
>  
> 
> \- Sara Bareilles, Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL thanks to my Geography teacher for inspiring me with the Mt. Everest metaphor. Though, I prefered the drowning one. There will be more!!!
> 
> Again, sorry my French sucks but my awesome friend Lynn who speaks fluent French like a pro said she will help me out. Thanks gurl. She has helped me loads these last few days I can't thank her enough. (Knowing me there will be shoutouts to her every chapter xD)
> 
> Sorry when I make references to Kpop and Babymetal if you haven't a clue who I mean lol.
> 
> To that person who requested 'I'm not Okay' by MCR, it's coming! (I promise)  
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)
> 
> Contact me on kik @Shougo_wish about the fic!

“Hey Mum,” I spoke into the phone.

 

“ _Imbécile!_ You know how I hate ‘Mum’!” She chuckled, “How are you both?”

 

Oh, that sweet sound of a Mother's voice. Mother had decided to call us that night, and for once my Father was home to answer. The phone lay on the table and me and Father sat on either side. He looked so happy to hear his wife's voice again. The thought saddened me to the marrow of my bones. Though, I had a plan. And I would get my Father over to France to be with her.

 

“I’m fine, Darling, just busy with work.” Father sighed. I honestly think ‘busy’ is an understatement.

 

“Oh dear, that reminds me, any news on moving over here?” I assumed that Father had told her everything. It scared me to think that maybe this had been something they'd been discussing for a long time. Maybe they had been worried and Father had been suffering from debt for _years_ and I had just been completely oblivious to it. The thought pained me. I had to help them. I guessed that was a chance to say something.

 

“I actually have something I want to tell you guys,” I interrupted. I wasn’t sure exactly how they would react. Perhaps Mother would shout at me and say I shouldn't have a job while I’m still in education. Perhaps they would be pleased. I wasn’t sure. You should always take chances. Life shouldn't be measured by time, it should be measured by what you achieve.

 

I took a deep breath, “I have a job.” Father turned his head quickly to look at me in shock. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He was probably overwhelmed. I did warn him. I told him I’d get one. I heard a sniffle from the other end of the phone.

 

“Jean-boy. Why didn’t you tell us? Does it get in the way of school? Are you okay? Is it a good one?” There she was again, throwing out nervous questions. I smiled.

 

In the end, I completely ignored every single one of her questions.

 

“Mama, I don’t want to go to France. As much as I miss you, I-”

 

“It’s okay,” Father put his hand on my shoulder, “I thought about what you said, Jean.”

 

I was slightly angry that he had interrupted me saying the one thing I was most desperate to say.

 

Mother coughed, I imagine she was very confused, “What are you talking about? Jean, your Father can’t afford to stay in England any longer.” Her words were a bit harsh unlike her usual soft voice.

 

“Would you both just listen?!” I snapped regretfully causing Father to jump a bit, “Sorry. What I want to say is that I have a job. Boss said they2’ll work around my school time, okay? I am not going to France. That’s the end of it. Papa can go and live with you _Maman_ , but I’m staying here. I’ll live alone. I’m going apartment hunting tomorrow with Ma- Historia. I have friends now,” I didn’t want Mother to question who Marco was, last thing I wanted was boyfriend questions at that point in time, “Plus, it’s been a week since I’ve taken anti-depressants.”

 

There was a long silence between the three of us. Father bit at his nails, waiting for Mama to reply. The sad rain outside seemed to become much angrier against the window. Call it pathetic fallacy if you will, but it really darkened the mood of the situation and made me want to rip out my hair by the roots.

 

“If I come and visit you soon, I hope to see your kitchen cupboards _stacked_ with good food.”

 

I began laughing and even my Father smiled brightly.

 

“You can count on me, _Maman_ ,” I grinned, almost tempted to just hug the phone, “Thank you so much.”

 

There was just that final step to go on Mt. Everest. I'd stormed through Icefall. I'd made it through The Deathzone. All that was left was to get to the summit. To find a fucking apartment and make every one- my family, my friends and most importantly myself - proud. I could do it. I could push myself up that steep slope and get there thanks to Marco's kind hand. He was my oxygen and he was my hope. God, in the three weeks I'd known him, he had helped me so much that no _thank you's_ would even mean anything in comparison for what he had done for me.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay… _living alone_?” Father questioned softly. I nodded and smiled.

 

Obviously, I didn't actually know if I would be okay. I had to challenge myself though, or else I'd get no where. I'd still be at base camp. _Life is measured in what you achieve,_ I thought again. Even if what I was achieving mean nothing to anyone else, I didn't care. It meant so much to me. It was the only way I could find my two feet again.

 

“Good luck tomorrow, Jean. I’m so proud of you, remember that.”

 

 _Proud_. I went to bed hearing that again and again in my head. I'd heard that a few times in the last few weeks, even if it was myself that said it at some points. There really is nothing wrong with being proud of yourself. I knew i'd only be most proud if I made it to the summit of the mountain. It was bigger than any I'd climbed before, but I knew I could make it.

No.

I'd made it past the _I cant's_. No more _I could's_ either. In fact, that big gaping whole of possibility was everything that was slowing me down. Anyone could climb a mountain. They _could_. I decided to skip the I _should's_ too. That's just a thought. That's just you trying to convince yourself. Some people procrastinate. Some people get distracted. Some people give up.

There was only one final way I could make it to the summit:

 

_I will._

 

* * *

 

 

I woke up to Franz Ferdinand’s _Do you want to_ and literally skipped into the shower. It was about 5°C outside so as I opened the shower door, I was hit by the coldest cold I’d felt since the previous winter. And I was _naked_. I ran –more like jiggled- over across the hall. I felt fucking goosebumps spread across my skin like a disease. I managed to dry myself pretty fast and pull on a t-shirt reading "I'm a creep, and I'm a wierdo" and a pair of black skinny jeans before there was a knock at the front door. I could have sworn I jumped right out of the clothes I'd just put on. The alarm clock only read that it was nearly 10. Marco wasn't due for an hour!

  
And I hadn't even had breakfast!

 

(Well of course I'd think that).

 

I ran downstairs, grumpy yet also exited to see Marco again. I didn't expect that when I opened the door I would be bombarded by two uninvited brats.

 

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” I whined as I opened the door for my cockblock visitors. Well, um, let's imagine that they weren't blocking cock, just Marco. Well not Marco's cock, just him coming- No, I think I'll just shut up.

 

They had arrived out of the black blocking the metaphorical cock that was Marco. I wasn't happy.

 

“Aw, Jean, don’t be so rude we’re only checking up on you.” Connie moaned childishly. I let out an elongated sigh. They knew I wasn't fully angry, and they were happy that I was finally showing some kind of human emotion. Annoyance mostly.

 

“Yeah! I even brought Doritos’!” Sasha joined in. I couldn't help but chuckle.

 

“Come in, it’s freezing. I guess I still have an hour.” I didn’t want to simply deny a visit. I wanted to become close friends with Connie and Sasha like we used to be. They stepped into my house smiling. Sasha smelled like coffee as she walked past me, and I instantly ran to turn the kettle on, realizing I’d completely forgotten to eat.

 

“An hour til what?” Sasha stood leaning over my shoulder, whispering loudly into my ear. I nearly dropped the kettle. I pushed her back with my hip.

 

“Would you just shut up and tell me what you want to eat?!” I snapped a little too loudly. Telling Sasha about my trip with Marco would’ve caused unwanted attention.

 

“Jean, you know exactly how to shut me up. I want _croissants_ and _Pain au chocolats’_!” She was practically raiding my cupboards within a second and Connie had already turned the grill on.

 

“Cook’ em real good!” Connie called.

 

“Um, I’m ashamed to say I don’t have the right ingredients,” They blinked back at me, “I make my croissants from scratch!” I explained.

 

“Aw man that sucks…can't you make an exception?” I shook my head. Sasha groaned over dramatically. I chuckled and pulled out plain flour, eggs and milk.

 

“ _How about some good old English pancakes_?” I mimicked –badly- a posh Londoners voice but my slight Trostian, almost Cornish accent could still be heard. The two giggled madly afterwards.

 

“ _Why, pancakes sound positively spiffing_!” Sasha sounded like Queen Elizabeth, with a few laughs intertwined with her words.

 

“ _Would you like me to make a pot of good ol'_ Fortnum & Mason _with that?_ ” Connie’s attempt was so half-assed; even I laughed at how awful it was.

 

“God Connie I’m not that rich! _Ten Quid for Afternoon Blend_? Fuck that!” I spat and Connie and Sasha danced around in a laughing fit.

 

Thanks to Sasha, we ended up tripling the recipe ending up with about 25 pancakes in total. Sasha could easily have inhaled all 25 on her own, and Connie and me were pretty good at the art of pancake eating too, so in the end there was just the right amount.

 

“I make awesome pancakes, best in Trost I’d say.” I boasted earning an agreeing nod from the pair.

 

“Nah, you make the best in the whole of Devon!” Connie replied.

 

“No! Best in England!” Sasha grinned and her tummy rumbled.

 

“How the hell are you still hungry, Sasha?” I cried.

 

“I dunno man, I made a theory that there’s a black hole in her stomach.” Connie explained, looking like an idiot.

 

Honestly, I loved Connie and Sasha so much. Despite my refusal to forgive them, I didn't have anything against them. They were there, even if only slightly, down the yellow brick road. They were there, supporting me when I was drowning. And they were there, by my side, through the Icefall and The Deathzone of Mt. Everest. Even if they weren't the ones to pull me out from 6-feet-under like Historia or to carry me through the stormiest parts of Everest like Marco. They were there for it partially. Despite those years that they left me, those unforgivable years, they made me who I was. They were Potato Girl and Baldy from Year Two. The pair that laughed at me, called me a horse and then made me feel prouder of what I loved most of all. They tole me I could get somewhere with my writing. They told me how beautiful and amazing my art was. They told me I could make it through the loneliest times and that I would be strong and make friends easily. Even if that wasn't the case, they tried. And they tried for me.

 

That's when there was another knock at the door. I checked the clock in instant shock. 10:46. _Shit_.

 

“You two, stay the fuck there, okay? Do. Not. Follow.” I eyed them threateningly, “You say one word and I’ll make sure to stick your skinny little bodies in that meat grinder and serve you for Bolognese. Got it?” Neither of them even questioned anything, but they knew I was only _half_ -serious. I wasn’t the kind of person to just say ‘There’s someone at the door, please keep quiet and don’t intervene.’ I'm freaking Jean Kirschtein!

 

I opened the door hesitantly, knowing Connie and Sasha were in the other side of the wall listening to everything.

 

“Your carriage awaits, Princess Jean.” The freckled idiot grinned like an idiot, repetition completely intentional, and I blushed in utter embarrassment. I could almost feel the laughs of the two brats behind the wall.

 

“You’re such a dork. Why’re you early?” I huffed.

 

“I’m not even that early,” He chuckled, “Dude, you _stink_ of nutella, and you even have some in the corner of your mouth.” He leaved forward and wiped it off with his thumb before sticking the nutty chocolate heaven in his mouth and smiling. I completely spasmed, a wave of awkwardness, flirtatious signaling and sexual urges blew through my body in one go. I wanted to lick those fucking peach pink lips of his, kiss them til they bruised and mark his gorgeous freckled skin. It was all hormones, _I promise_. So I did what I always did in those kind of situations, cover my boner and make a childish remark.

 

“Ew that’s gross,” I blushed, “Y-you’re Italian, so I won’t believe you if you say it isn’t a nice smell,” I smirked (flirtatiously) earning a small blush in return from Marco, “Wait there, I’ll go get on my shoes.”

 

I stormed into the living room and pushed the brats against the wall, who stood laughing hysterically. I didn't shout or shush them. I remained as calm and composed as possible.

 

“I’m going,” I handed them the keys, “Lock the door behind you and put the keys under the mat. Wait til I’m out of sight first. And don’t you dare say anything about this to anyone until I explain it to you, okay?”

 

Sasha nodded, still laughing, “Of course, _Princess Jean_.” They both burst out laughing again.

 

“You’re not going to let that go are you?” I pouted, furrowing my eyebrows.

 

“Nope. Go on then, _your carriage awaits!_ ” Connie replied.

 

I slipped on my Combat boots and pulled on a Baby Metal beanie, no one ever questioned my guilty pleasure. I waved the brats goodbye and stepped out of the front door. Marco leaned against his car looking off into the distance. He rubbed his hand together in the cold and let out a heavy breath that pushed through the air in a little cloud. As soon as my footsteps could be heard, he turned his head and smiled before opening the car door for me. The whole thing just made me breathe heavily.

 

He had a pair of glasses on, framing his face perfectly, but remaining

 

We sat in the car and I took a big puff of air.

 

“You okay?” Was all he said.

 

I nodded, fiddling with my left lower lip piercing, “Y-yeah, just a little bit out of breath. I don’t know why I feel like I’ve run a marathon.” I did know why. One look at the guy made my heart spasm in my chest. _Compose yourself, idiot._

He blinked twice and looked at me for a bit before pulling the most evil grin in history, “I guess you could call it a _Doki Doki Morning_ …”

 

You know when you get those feelings of literal extreme embarrassment and the only thoughts that go through your head are ‘Oh crap just kill me right now!’. I had happily worn my _Babymetal_ beanie for about 6 years and not a single person had ever questioned it, never mind make a fool out of me by mentioning a song.

 

“What the hell man,” I cried as he laughed proudly to himself.

 

“I can’t believe you like J-Pop!” He almost looked as though her was about to cry out of laughter.

 

“I-it’s not pop music, it’s metal! S-so shut up man!” I felt like such a loser.

 

“Aw, Jean, No problem. I have a strong love for K-Pop so it’s fine.” He calmed himself and smiled. We drove off and I tried my best to distract him from Connie and Sasha, who by then had walked round the corner within sight of Marco’s car. Sasha clearly holding a bag of homemade cupcakes she’d pinched from the cupboard.

 

“Did you actually phone up any companies to get permission to go and view the houses?” He asked, smirking.

 

“Shit! I didn’t know I had to!!” I panicked and started shaking not really knowing what to do. I felt an arm on my shoulder.

 

“You’re such a baby. Good thing I called up last night, managed to organize three viewings, all for free.” I think I let out the biggest grin and sigh of relief ever. He was a saint. My panic calmed and I let out a second heavy breath.

 

“Marco, _I could kiss you right now_ ,” I choked on my words but played out cool, “Thank you a ton.”

 

“No problem,” He smiled, not mentioning my extreme blush or stupid phrases, “The first viewing is in about 5 minutes. I have a notebook too, so you can jot down prices, taxes, bills and quality as we go around. If you want, I’ll do the talking.”

  
  
Exactly 5 minutes later I found myself stood outside the big block of Sina apartments. My nerves took a hold of me and Marco grabbed my hand, soothingly circling his thumb on my wrist.

 

“I’ll be fine,” He reminded me, smiling a smile that could cure any illness.

 

A short brown haired woman, probably in her early thirties, walked out of the building’s main entrance.

 

“Hello boys, are either of you Mr. Kirschtein?” She spoke with a strong but gentle Yorkshire accent. I nodded in response.

 

“Well come on in. My name is Anka Rheinberger, call me Anka or Aunty, whatever you please. I’m landlord here and lucky for you there are three really cheap apartments to offer.” She explained, smiling brightly.

 

The entrance was a white door leading to a corridor. It smelled fresh there. I noticed a short, grouchy, and somehow familiar looking man mopping along the floor. I decided not to question it.

 

“There are three floors. On the bottom floor, this floor, are four 3-bedroom apartments. They are all just families.” We followed Anka up to Floor number two.

 

“On this floor are six 2-bedroom apartments. Yet again, mostly just families and a few newly married couples. Sorry there isn’t a lift.” She moved on to the next floor. Marco, handed me the pen and notebook, still holding my hand. I was thankful that Anka hadn’t questioned that. He had actually spoken to her as we walked up the stairs but I just hadn’t listened. We made it to the top floor.

 

“Finally, your floor. This one is a bit odd actually. There are 7 Apartments, all different sized and all different interiors, yet they all are one-bedroom apartments. The three that are available are completely different, hence why the prices won’t be the same.” I nodded along with her, letting go of Marco’s hand, to my despair, so I could jot down a few notes. Anka pulled out a key.

 

“This is the smallest and cheapest place,” She said as we walked inside.

 

The walls were painted a disgusting cornflower blue. The sofa was a wierd cream colour, not too dissimilar from Ross' couch in Friends...you know, the one he couldn't get up the stairs. She lead me into the kitchen then. Obviously, this was the most important room to me, and I was not pleased with the result.

 

“Wow the kitchen is tiny!” I blurted out without thinking. Marco chuckled.

 

“Should’ve known you’d want a big Kitchen…” he smiled.

 

“Oh that’s great, the next apartment is only £10 more expensive than this guy and the kitchen is much bigger!” She cheered, “You want to move onto the next one straight away?” I nodded, smiling. I was Jean Kirschtein, and Jean Kirschtein would NOT settle for a small-ass kitchen.

 

The next apartment was much nicer. Some walls were painted a neutral grey colour and the others were white, creating a bigger room effect. The previous owners had left _all_ of the furniture behind which I didn’t even have to pay for. The rent was £75 per month, including bills, and the Kitchen was perfect. The bedroom was nice too. The roof came over the bed at a slant so I imagined myself being able to gaze at stars every night. The bathroom was small because the shower took up most of the room, but I liked it, it was cozy. There was a small balcony with French Doors to get onto it. In the inside of the French doors was a small two-seater table leaving much more room in the living room.

 

“Anka?” I asked, “I’ll take this one please.”

 

She and Marco looked at me with surprise.

 

“If it’s what you want, take it Jean.” Marco smiled.

 

“Okay, it’s a deal. But I will warn you, we’ve had complaints about the neighbors to your left…” She mumbled.

 

“Complaints? Are they rude or?” Marco asked.

 

“No no! They’re perfectly lovely young men, I’m sure you’d make friends with them, but they just can get a bit noisy, you see.” She smiled and we nodded.

 

“Jean?” Marco looked at me hinting something but I wasn’t quite sure what. I decided to go ahead and say something polite.

 

There's always that point in life when you let out the biggest sigh ever. You finally reach where you want to be and everything is going well. I grabbed Marco's hand, my weightless soul feeling more free than ever. I had made it up my Everest. I had made it. I was _proud_.

 

“Thanks Anka, I’m sure I’ll settle in fine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Stephen Sutton for your wonderful quote, "Life shouldn't be measured by time, it should be measured by what you achieve." Oh my god, he is an inspiration. I'm proud to have recently donated over £100 to teenage cancer trust in memory of him. This quote will be important to this story, and so once again, thank you.


	5. In The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried so hard  
> And got so far  
> But in the end  
> It doesn’t even matter  
> I had to fall  
> To lose it all  
> But in the end  
> It doesn’t even matter
> 
>  - Linkin Park, In The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO THE STORM COMES ALONG IN THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVE ODD TRIGGERS PLS STOP RIGHT NOW
> 
> you have been warned.
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to tag this fic on tumblr as:
> 
> fic: hwbl
> 
> OR
> 
> fic: he will be loved
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)
> 
> Contact me on kik @Shougo_wish about the fic!

Marco was like a saint.

 

I mean, I know I’ve probably said that a thousand times before, but he really was.

 

It felt like a lifetime had passed with him, when really it had been just under a month.

 

He was helping me build this wall around my life. This unstoppable wall that not even a giant could see over. These demons that haunted me, they were behind the wall. There were bordered away, far, far away. Marco and I were sat on the edge of the wall, hand in hand, proud of everything we had been through. I felt proud to be able to call him my friend. I felt daring to be able to call him my best friend. Sure, Historia, Connie and Sasha were brilliant people, but they had in no way seen so deep into my life, my development, the constructing of my walls and my armour like Marco had. He had seen so much within this November.

 

The rainy month of November that I would remember for the rest of my existence.

 

And I knew there would be so much more of me he would see. I had a gut feeling that there was more to come between us. Not just about me. I felt like I had more to discover on his part too. It was exciting.

 

When I finally returned home that Saturday night after the viewing, I felt a hole in my heart that I had to leave Marco. I knew I’d see him again on Tuesday, and that we would sit together in class and everything, but it still pained me to say my goodbyes.

 

I guess I had a soft spot somewhere.

 

At home, Father had returned early for once. He welcomed me into the house with a warm hug.

 

I really did love my Father. Your parents are the people who raise you, you have to love them. You can’t help but love them.

 

“ _Had a good day?”_ I said in German. He smiled, proud of me. Fucking proud of me.

 

“ _Yes, I quit my job today, have you had a good day?_ ” I nodded in response. He told me to sit down and enjoy our final meal together as just the two of us.

 

“Father, I managed to get a really cheap apartment today.” I smile as I spoon a good heap-full of curry into my mouth. Curry was one of the things Father made best. Especially Rogan Josh.

 

“God, we’re going to worry about you so much, Son.” I smiled sympathetically at him.

 

It was the beginning of my life alone in just a couple of days. Of course he was worried. In some ways I was thankful, In some ways I wanted him to stop thinking of me, of my health. Almost a month of anti-depressants. There wasn’t much at all that could trigger me into doing something dangerous to myself. Despite how many triggers there were out there, the walls I’d built around me would keep them away and protect me. Marco would protect me. Marco wouldn’t pull me into anything.

 

“Come on, let’s do all the teary-talk another time. Let’s just eat up and then we can go start packing!”

 

He smiled again. I felt like I really had achieved something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Kirschtein I have to say that you make the _best_ cakes ever.” Sasha chimed.

 

The Sunday after the viewing, Father decided he’d head over to France on Monday the 25th. I still hadn’t moved into the apartment, but planned to on that same Monday, after all, it was my day off. I invited Connie and Sasha over for tea on Sunday night, one: to see my Father again because he loved their company, and two: because Father’s food is brilliant. I knew Connie and Sasha would appreciate that. Things seemed to be moving scarily fast and honestly, I did kind of miss my pills once in a while.

 

“Thank you, you two should have visited more often. I’ve missed you both,” Father paused, “And I know for sure Jean missed you too!” He smirked and Connie and Sasha both went ‘awwww’ like I was a lost puppy.

 

“Dad _please_!” I cried embarrassed.

 

“Oy, enough with the ‘Dad’ I hate it.” He grinned. “You guys enjoy the rest of the food, I need to go and finish packing!” He smiled again and walked upstairs.

 

Then I felt two hands grab mine. Before I knew it I was being pinned against the wall by Sasha and tickled by Connie.

 

“-Ahh- Guys –ahah- stop –ah- please –ahhah- GUYS!” I cried through laughter and pain.

 

“You’d better tell us everything _Princess_ ,” Sasha began.

 

“And then we’ll let you go.” Connie finished.

 

Addressing them about Marco was pretty easy. Sadly though, they swore to always remember the whole ‘Princess’ ordeal, which sucked for me. I told them about Tuesday and how we had our first class discussing things to do in the script-writing assignment. I told them about work and how I’d been three times and things were becoming more comfortable. I told them about going apartment hunting and that I have neighbors who are noisy.

 

We had another sleepover that night. Most of the food was eaten by Sasha, to our non-existant shock of horror. We stayed up til really late that night. The gentle tapping of the cold November Rain eventually brought us to our slumber.

 

I had many dreams of the time I spend with Connie and Sasha as kids. Dreams about our beach trips. Dreams about our trips to the cinema where Sasha annoyed the entire cinema room with her packet of crisps crumbling in her fingertips. I felt so happy. So...starry-eyed about everything. It just felt like I was free in the air, like when Pocahontas showed John Smith how to paint with all the colours of the wind. Yeah, I felt weightless. It was wonderful. Too wonderful.

 

Everything seemed artificial.

 

* * *

 

Back in High School, when my parents left to go to Norway, the time when Allyson died, I felt tons of excitement in saying goodbye to them. That whole idea of living by myself, even if for only three weeks, meant so much. It made me feel refreshed, grown up and free, almost.

  
It makes you think.

 

There are so many different _goodbyes_ that one person can say. There are those temporary goodbyes that are said with an effortless voice because you know, or you think that they will come back. They are the kind of _goodbyes_ that are said in routine. When your parents leave in the morning. When you go home after school.

 

Then there are the _goodbye_ s that pain you ever so slightly because the person you are saying them too will not see you, or you will not them, for quite an extended period of time. Much alike to the _goodbyes_ I gave my parents when they left to Norway.

 

Thirdly, there are those _goodbyes_ that are never really spoken, they just happen. Many things happen in the constant flow of time. That wave of preventable life that hits you every hour, every millisecond of your existence. You can't stop it. You can't, no matter how hard you try. You can't prevent the _goodbyes_ either. They just happen, along with the other things. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. In my case, it was bad. I didn't want Connie and Sasha to leave. I only managed to accept that it was a goodbye _after_ they were gone.

 

There were the goodbyes of death. There were the goodbyes that a parent would joke to their baby, hiding behind their hand before saying 'boo!'. There were even the goodbyes to those short, even unimportant childhood friends that felt so important at the time. they were really there to send you back to nostalgic places sometime in the future.

 

Let's not even get started on the _goodbye_ I had to say to Eren Jaeger.

 

In general, I may have felt very happy that last month, but I also cried a few times too. The day finally came where Father and I would have to say our goodbyes, and it would be a flat out lie if I said my eyes weren't glaceing over with bitter sweet tears. It was partially a temporary goodbye because I knew, well I _hoped_ , I would see him again. But as well as that, it was also the painful goodbye that hit me with a harsh unsettling growl, forcing me to remember that he would be gone for so long. So long and so far away from my own Father. The man who had raised me. The man who showed me how to stay strong. How to tie my laces. How to eat with my knife and fork in the right hand. How to say my pleases and thank you's.

 

It's almost laughable to think about. All the little things end up piecing together to make one big one. My unconditional love for my Father.

 

And it all came flooding through every vein in my body at the exact moment we were stood at the Airport terminal. I just knew this was it. It was time.

 

“You’ll remember to eat won’t you?”

 

I nodded.

 

“You’ll shower, right?”

 

I nodded.

 

“You’ll call us _everyday_?”

 

I sighed, “Jeez Papa, chill out. I’ll be fine.”

 

I wrapped my arms around and hugged my Father tightly. God, I hugged him like I was running away from a monster. My dear Father was leaving me and I would have to try and finally grow up. It was the final beginning.

  
I would think about my mother and father everyday. I would worry that they were getting to stressed, or Grandmother was giving them a hard time. Of course I would worry, they were my parents. I needed the fresh start though. So did they. It was somewhat of a happy ending.

 

“Jean, I’ll miss you so much.”

 

My eyes were damp. There was a pain in my throat. I wanted to wail. My Father...

 

The soft creases in the corners of his eyes, the comforting smile he threw me at my worst moments, even if it was forced. Because he would do anything for me like I was a Kindgom and he was a patriarch. It would feel strange, uncomfortable and alien to not have him there any more. I knew deep down that eventually I would need to stop relying on my parents for everything. First begin relying on my friends. Then try to rely on myself.

 

“I’ll miss you too.”

 

“I love you so much, Jean.”

 

I choked out a reply. It was suicide.

 

“I love you more, Papa.”

 

I managed to hold back my tears as I watched him walk down the airport terminal. Okay, I lied, I cried as I watched him walk down the airport terminal. But, it was the start of something new. The beginning of my life alone. And I was so determined to get everything right. It was all for the best. For him, for me, for Mother. We would all go our own ways and make it somehow. I would call them weekly and I would make sure to keep my life going steady. I could do that. _I would_ do that. He slung his bag over his shoulders and disappeared down the tunnel. He didn't look back. Maybe that was the only way he could walk away from me. Avoid looking at the tears falling down my cheeks.

 

It was happening too fast. Too fast.

 

* * *

 

 

It only took three trips back and forth to the apartment. All I really owned was clothes, food and other random things like art supplies. I’ll admit, it was really hard thinking that I’d be leaving behind my entire childhood, even if the flat was only a 10 minute walk away.

 

I managed to fill every cupboard in the kitchen with food and decorate the walls with my Mother’s old-style French food advertisement prints about _Le café parfait_. I also put some of Father’s beloved bowls from Cologne with beautiful prints of the Cathedral around the outside on the shelving unit. Lastly, I stacked up a pile of cookbooks in the corner, simply for a feeling of home.

 

I changed the position of the sofa and TV in a way that the sun wouldn’t glare on the screen if it shun through the balcony windows. I proudly put up my favourite posters of _The Ramones, Foo Fighters_ and _Nirvana_ on my bedroom wall. I decided that I’d spend the Monday decorating as it lacked carpets and nice duvet covers and anything that made the apartment more…me.

 

Then I heard sudden banging on my door.

 

And a familiar voice.

 

“ _Hola! Bonjour! Annyeong! Sveiki!_ I’m your wonderful next-door-neighbour and I’m here to _welcome you_ or whatever!”

 

I opened the door making sure to scowl the best I could as I opened up the door.

 

“Who would have thought I’d end up living next door to you, Ymir bloody Braus.” I hissed, jokingly. I felt overly confident.

 

“Jean?!” Historia, who stood behind Ymir with a few cans of beer, cried excitedly.

 

“I should be saying the same thing. Didn’t realize there was a _stable_ next door.” Ymir hissed in response to my previous statement. Then two more familiar people appeared in the corridor.

 

“Ew, it’s the female gays, keep away Bertl they’ll tempt you with their _boobs_.” Reiner exclaimed, clearly just messing around.

 

‘Bertl’ spotted me and blushed giving an apologetic look. He was the guy who had kissed Reiner in script class. Another drama student. He seemed pretty harmless so I composed myself and stood, watching the ordeal.

 

“Ooooh~ New meat!” Reiner called before being elbowed by Historis. He looked at me for a second and then grinned like he had just discovered a new universe, "Jean Kirschtein, Am I right?"

 

I just nodded.

 

“Sorry Jean, this is unexpected. Can we come in?” The blonde angel asked politely.

 

Before I knew it, the four of them were squished into my living room, with beers in their hand. Ymir was completely drunk. The TV was playing _Eastenders_ , clearly one of those build-up-to-the-big-Christmas-reveal episodes. Most likely some murder or a fire. I refused to admit that I actually enjoyed a good episode of that show.

 

I ended up in the kitchen whipping up some Eiskaffe for Bertholdt, who apparently didn’t drink Alcohol. That's when I heard another knock on the door. Before I could even leave the Kitchen, Ymir had excitedly pulled the freckled boy into the Kitchen with me.

 

“Hey Jean, I see you’re settling in.” His smile was enough to make me leap forward and hug him tightly. The day had been all too much for me and I wasn’t sure what to do. He patted my back and I huffed and sighed as a way of letting out my emotions.

 

“Been a bit hectic?” He asked.

 

“Marco, you don’t even know.”

 

Everyone left at 11pm, which I realised was the time that most days ended in my life. I had managed to learn a few things about people. Historia could get very sexual after a few beers, it was hard seeing the little angel so kinky. Ymir was crazy about Historia. She practically kissed the girl to death every two minutes. I learned they both shared the apartment to the right. Reiner and Bertl owned the noisy apartment. Reiner was definitely the noisy one, always making rude jokes about his dick. Bertl was the blushy, bashful type, I think he sometimes got a bit stressed out by Reiner, but I could see how they cared very much for each other. Marco, well, Marco was Marco. He cared for everyone, he kept optimistic and he smiled at everything. In fact, Marco actually left at 11:30, because he decided to stay a bit longer and help me tidy up.

 

I noticed he seemed very tired and I tried to tell him he didn’t have to stay, but he seemed reluctant to leave. His cast was off as apparently it felt much better then. He did, though, have a round purple bruise on his jawline.

 

“You fall again, Freckles?” I asked and he looked at me confusedly before reaching up and touching the bruise.

 

“O-oh yeah. I must seem like a clumsy idiot to you,” I nodded, “It was my brother. All it takes is a tickle fight to get kicked in the face with him. Little rascal.” He smiled and I tried not to blush at his adorable (sexy) accent.

 

“I’m going to take of now then, say, Jean, would you like to meet some of my friends tomorrow?” He tilted his head to the side.

 

I agreed and that was the end of the night. My first night alone.

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily, there were no deaths that night. Thank god. But I felt dead enough going to school in the morning. I was exhausted. Each of my muscles felt achy and my neck had a goddamn crook. I feared cracking it back into place, but it had to be done. I was left with an achy neck too as a result. It was odd waking up in foreign territory. Well, techincally just around the corner from my last flat, but it felt foreign. But that's the whole point of change. It was an achievement to me, even with the hardships.

 

The morning lesson on Tuesday 27th was Art, because scripting class got cancelled.

 

“Okay, I have a ton of work to mark so I’m setting an independent task,” Mr. Zacklyn  explained, “Pick a partner and choose a software, _SAI_ , _Photoshop_ , whatever, and attempt a portrait of them.”

 

Obviously, the first person at my side was Marco. The lesson was spent discussing our favourite artists, music and films we like. I had more than enough fun laughing at Marco for loving _Titanic_. He easily got his revenge by threatening to tell the class about my little (big) obsession with _Babymetal_.

 

"So what's your favourite film?" He asked (mid laughter) before adding, "Not much gets better than _Titanic_."

 

I scoffed, "Um, there is a lot better than goddamn _Titanic_. My favourite films are Alien and The Breakfast Club."

 

He raised an eyebrow, "I've seen _The Breakfast Club_ , not _Alien_."

 

I smiled and decided not to mention my massive crush on John Bender, like seriously, my childhood love.

 

"One day we can watch it together, okay? And Alien too." He nodded in response.

 

"What's your favourite song?" I groaned. How could I pick one?! I decided I'd say my top three.

 

" _Hotel California_ , _Sweet Child O' Mine_ and _Everlong_." I smiled proudly. Yes, I was more than proud of my music taste. Other than _Babymetal_ , the music I listened to was internationally respected. And on top of than, _Hotel California_ and _Sweet Child O' Mine_ were both internationally respected songs.

 

He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'not bad' and I signaled him to say his favourite.

 

"A tie between _A Little Piece of Heaven_ and _Where is My Mind_."

 

I laughed, "Wow Marco, I'm shocked you listen to music about murder and necrophillia!" He pouted, "Though, _Where is My Mind_ is fucking amazing." We'd already discussed his odd love for Avenged Sevenfold music. it just didn't fit his character.

 

I learned that he was much better at cartoon-style art, graphics and animating than he was at painting and sketching and whatnot. In fact, he admitted that he was so absolutely terrible at traditional art that in art lessons he only ever worked on computer. Drama and Singing were his specialties. By the end of the lesson, we hadn’t even turned on our computers and done any work. By then it was break and Marco said his friends would be waiting in the Canteen.

 

On the way I stopped at a food stall and grabbed a cappuccino, which was awful in my opinion. I still sipped away, happy to get in some caffeine. Turns out my usual morning coffee had no effect. I was a little hung over too. I took a sip leaving me with a frothy moustache.

 

“Dude, you need to stop leaving food round your mouth,” Marco chuckled and wiped a finger through my frothy lip and put it in his mouth. Fuck, _again_. I desperately tried to hide any signs of arousal or tents forming in my trousers.

 

“Gross.”

 

* * *

 

 

The campus of my university was really small. I remember that most rooms smelled like paint and coffee, for whatever reasons. The majority of people were all drama-queens, even if drama wasn’t their chosen subject. Each of us had our own different ways of expressing ourselves, mine was being violent. Well, I didn’t really express myself much at all if I think about it. All over campus you could find people of all sorts of styles ranging from extreme Goth to cutesy J-Fashion. I guess you could say I was punk, but on lazy days I just threw on a band t-shirt and some jeans. (That was basically everyday).

 

Marco and I neared the canteen, is smelled like pizza that day. Horrible, ready-made freezer-pizza.

 

“Are your friends here yet?” I asked as we made it to the door.

 

He seemed to question himself mentally, “Think so. They should be here by now.”

 

We walked into the canteen and pushed through all of the few university students before turning around to the second half, which was behind a big blue wall.

 

“Hey guys!” Marco called over to a table, and I turned to look.

 

On the table were three faces. Familiar faces. Faces I’d told myself I never wanted to see again.

 

I gulped, loudly.

 

“Okay Jean, so that’s Armin,” He pointed to the short blonde boy in a flowery dress, who gasped and covered his mouth in complete horror.

 

“That’s Mikasa,” He pointed to the girl whose face dropped in shock, despite her usually never showing emotion.

 

“And that’s Eren,” He then noticed the faces of the three sat at the table and looked back at me.

 

“J-Jean?” He suddenly changed tone. I stepped back a bit, the world started spinning and everything became a blur. I saw Eren stand up.

 

“Jean. Fucking. Kirschtein.” Was all I heard him say; before I realised I’d gone into complete panic.

 

_Eren Jaeger._

 

Sudden flashbacks appeared of my high school. My friendship. _Everything_.

 

My eyes seemed to roll back into my head as I thought about Eren. _Eren Jaeger…_

 

I screamed, I think, and cupped my hand over my ears. I guess it was more of a cry or yelp of pain rather than a scream. I pulled at my top and felt like breaking down and punching everything. Then I saw Marco. He stood there, in horror at my screaming face, frozen and not knowing what to do. Eren looked terrified as well _, like he’d fucking care_. Armin stood up and walked hesitantly towards me.

 

I couldn’t take it.

 

All of these memories came flooding back. Eren. Allyson. _Him._ Suicide. The things Eren did to me.

 

I couldn’t fucking take it.

 

In a rush, still making cries of pain or whatever it was I felt, and grabbed my pockets.

 

_Where the fuck are my pills?_

Without even thinking I found myself running as fast as I could through the huge crowd that had formed around us. I ran. Down the corridors, out of the gates, across the road, up three lots of stairs and through my apartment door.

 

I opened every cupboard door I could and found my stash of medication.

 

 _You've done well, Jean,_ I told myself,  _You've tried so hard these last few weeks._  

 

I stared weakly the labels; though reading was unimportant - and somewhat impossible thanks to the tears welling in my eyes

 

_Sleeping tablets._

_Stress relief drugs._

_Anxiety medication._

_Anti-depression pills._

 

I pulled them all onto my kitchen table, ignoring the banging that had started on my door. Now wasn’t the time to be answering it.

 

I had made it so far, but it didn't even matter anymore. The roots of all my fear, all my depression. They we're back. Back in my life. The only way I knew how to kill the demons the came back to haunt me again were my pills.

 

With a bottle of water and the jumbled assortment of capsules in my hand.

 

I took one, swallowing hard.

 

And after that I stopped counting.

 

I stopped counting, even though it was dangerous.

 

I knew it was dangerous.

 

I knew that all but I just couldn't stop. My own body was trying to kill itself. Not even Marco would be able to save my walls from crumbling from a colossal force. He couldn't stop me from falling right back down the icy mountain, loosing hope, loosing oxygen. All my wounds felt open again and I sank deep in the lake. The weeds grabbed at my ankles.

 

I was was drowning again.

 

 _I tried so hard_ , I thought as water filled my lungs, _I don't want to die._

 

_Come for me Marco, save me from myself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry


	6. Don't Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,  
> Don't stop, it'll soon be here,  
> It'll be, better than before,  
> Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.
> 
> \- Don't Stop, Fleetwood Mac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [song playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjAUpxoN5o23sfrfGAdsvW7E0HJAPexoy)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this happier chapter!
> 
> Eden isn't this bad guys, he only seems bad because Jean blames everything on him.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)

_“Wow! You’re amazing!” A blonde-haired, bob-cut boy gasped excitedly. I blinked at him. I was sat on the deserted side of the small high school canteen, carefully sketching a picture of a beautiful Japanese girl stood at the other side of the room, and someone had decided to come and talk to me._

_He was an attractive guy, but I’d use the word ‘pretty’ rather than ‘handsome’. I noticed he was wearing a school skirt. There were a few guys at my school that cross-dressed, but I’d never seen this guy before. I didn’t think anything of it. If girls can wear trousers, guys can wear skirts – or something like that._

_“T-thank you?” I replied, not really knowing what else to say. The boy smiled._

_“I’m Armin. Nice to meet you!” He held out a hand to shake mine._

_I grabbed it and shook it twice, “J-Jean, Jean Kirschtein.”_

_Armin held out a hand for me, pointing to the other side of the canteen, “Want to come and meet my friends?” I nodded realizing that I’d spent the whole first year and a half of high school alone and friendless, and so I decided it wouldn’t be bad to make some friends aside from Connie and Sasha._

_Armin pulled me along towards two people sat on a four-seater table eating some form of disgusting pre-made noodles. One of them just happened to be the girl I had been sketching. A girl who’s name I honestly didn’t know, but still I’d had a useless crush on her the past couple of weeks. I blushed embarrassedly, realizing Armin had seen my drawing of her._

_“That’s Mikasa,” He pointed at the girl and she gave an emotionless smile, if that’s even possible, and I somewhat waved at her like a primary school kid. Then he showed me to the boy that sat next to Mikasa. His eyebrows sat in a smoldering but angry position on his sun-kissed skin. His eyes were of a beautiful emerald colour, flushes of dark and light. His lips played a smirk that honestly made me weak at the knees and I was surprised I hadn’t seen him and drawn him by then._

_“Eren.” The boy said harshly, introducing himself, “Eren Jaeger.”_

 

* * *

 

 

The last time I had been in hospital was when I was 16. I had woken up with a huge wire sticking out of my arm feeding in blood. I guess that sounds pretty gross. I had suffered a severe blood loss. And that last time I had been in hospital was because of Eren Jaeger. That guy had caused me to end up in hospital twice, and for the same reasons, trying to end it all.

 

This time was different, though. I didn’t have a huge wire feeding me blood. I had what felt like _thousands_ of needles sticking into my arms and legs. I felt like literal shit. My eyelids felt like they were stitched together and I could barely get them open. I rolled over in an attempt to move from my uncomfortable position but retreated as a sharp pain pierced my head.

 

“Aghhnn-” I groaned. I wanted to massage my temples back to normal but my arms were tangled up in wires.

 

“Jean-boy!” A voice cried, sounding like they were incredibly relieved. _Sasha._

 

“Jean! Are you awake?” Another voice added. _Connie._ I didn’t reply, but instead let out a whimper and moved a little. I felt the pair walk up to me and I could almost feel the tears in their eyes. _I’m sorry, guys_.

 

Last time I’d woken up in hospital after attempted suicide, it was my parents that had been there beside me when I woke up. It had only been a day since Dad left and I’d already failed him. I wanted to drown away.

 

I grimaced as my eyes opened. Sasha stood, fists clenched together. Connie was beside her with a hesitant look in his eyes. I tilted my head and looked around the room. It was empty, small and cold, a few seats thrown about here and there. To my right was a table with a bouquet of white roses to which a small label was attached reading ‘Dear Jean, Stay Strong, Love from Ymir and Historia!’. Also on the table were three cups of Starbucks coffee. On each one the words _Good Morning_ were written. I didn’t know why they were there and I didn’t question it.

 

Slowly, I turned back to the pair of brats at the end of my bed. I was unsure of what I would say to them. _What’s the right thing to say to your friends who are visiting you in hospital after trying to overdose?_

“M-Marco,” Was all I could mutter. He had been the last person I had seen and was probably scared shitless of me. All he wanted was to innocently introduce me to his friends. I knocked the thought of Eren Jaeger out of my head and continued to speak.

 

“What happened?” I muttered.

 

Sasha smiled with relief; “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

 

“And Marco, well, we haven’t seen him. I think he feels horrible. Nurse said he brought you those coffee’s each morning though. I don’t know why but-” Connie sighed, “Jean. We were so worried about you.”

 

The pair leant in for a hug and a nurse walked in. Her badge read ‘Hitch’. She was a tall, pretty woman with ash-blonde, curly hair and a forced smile on her face. She looked exhausted.

 

“I see someone is awake.” She tilted her head reassuringly, “Let me turn of the machines.” She pointed to whatever I was attached to and began taking out the needles carefully from my weak skin.

 

“Jean,” Hitch began, “If you need someone to talk to I-”

 

“He doesn’t need any special help.” Sasha interrupted, sounding sure of what she was saying. Hitch looked angered.

 

“Please if you’ll listen-” the Nurse started again, huffing like it was the worst thing to do to talk to other humans. _I agree with you there,_ I snorted mentally _._

 

“No.” Connie joined in. Hitch looked at me with her thin blonde eyebrows raised. I shook my head in agreement with the brats. She let out a huge sigh.

 

“Fine. Doctor. Zeramusky will see you in a minute.” She turned away and walked out of the door.

 

After that, I had to sit and talk to another doctor for about 2 hours about everything. I was prescribed with another lot of anti-depressants and anxiety pills, and told to keep taking them until I felt better. I explained that I didn’t self-harm and that I would not try to kill myself anymore. I couldn’t make any promises.

 

Connie and Sasha drove me back to my apartment. The ride from the small Trost hospital was in silence. Neither of the two spoke to me. I didn’t speak to them. I slouched back into my seat, aching all over my body. I wasn’t tired, though. Well, not many people would be tired after three days of sleep.

 

As we pulled up in front of the Sina blocks, it was already pitch black outside. I slithered out of the car.

 

“Jean,” Sasha spoke seriously, “Call us if you need us, okay?” I nodded in response and gave them what I hoped looked like a smile. They drove away without any other words to say. The sky was filled with clusters of stars in wonderful formations that I could never be bothered to learn the names of. It was just below freezing at that point and I couldn’t wait to get in my house and wrap up in a blanket.

 

I really would have preferred it if the apartment had a lift. Being on the top floor was effort, especially when I had no athletic ability whatsoever. During High School I’d skip every P.E lesson with some excuse about a critical breathing problem. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they realized I was lying. If I was willing to do exercise, it would be to save myself from some monster, or a tsunami, basically the only way to get me running would’ve been to try and kill me. Sounds a bit hypocritical coming from the guy who’s just attempted suicide.

 

The whole block was eerily silent. My door seemed to make the loudest creak in history when I opened it. It was hot inside; perhaps the heating had been left on. Come to think of it, I didn’t actually know who had taken me to hospital three days before. It never crossed my mind to ask.

 

A warm glow from the moon shun through the French windows, illuminating the small coffee table. On the table stood my Mother’s vase from Paris, this time holding a single white lily. The water filling the glass was an incandescent blue. I made out a single silhouette at the table. The person held his head in his hands and looked down at the table as if thinking intently. As I stepped forward into the moonlit apartment, the figure turned to look at me. It didn’t take long for me to realize who it was.

 

 

I found myself increasing pace as I sped through the living room towards him. Within what felt like a second I had my arms wrapped around him, letting out all the tears I’d held in, not really caring. Marco gave this comforting feeling. I didn’t feel embarrassed crying over him, well not really. I was able to talk to him like he was a close friend that I’d known for years, which was strange to me. All in all, he was the kind of person that you didn’t get awkward moments with. Any negative feelings blew away when he was near.

 

Another thing about Marco was his beauty. In the short time I had known him, his beauty had been something I admired the most. He carried himself with an unfathomable grace, a hint of clumsiness mixed in there too, and it fit him all to well. His dark hair parted from the back and was styled forwards, his fringe blowing over his forehead yet remaining in a neat under-cut. His lips were peach-coloured in the moonlight and his eyes glowed amber. His small freckles were placed perfectly over his rosy cheeks. I wanted to touch his smooth skin, which was a pale white shine under the full moon. He was so fucking beautiful.

 

“It’s okay, Jean,” He pulled me tighter against his chest, his voice cracking like he wanted to cry too. I nuzzled my face into his neck, _feeling him_ , so close and so real.

 

“It’s going to be fucking _okay,_ Jean.” I didn’t really know if he was crying by this point, but his words felt so full of emotion. He was so confused about me, about everything, about _why_. It was the first time I had heard him swear and understood that sometimes, when you feel so strongly about something, you can only express yourself with these harsh words. I thought of it as cursing the world.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jean, I really am. I’ve not slept at all these last three days. I haven’t slept or eaten…I feel so stupid. I’m sorry!” By this point he was most definitely crying. Seeing the usual overly happy Marco crying his eyes out almost broke my heart.

 

Carefully, I squeezed him and let go before lifting him up like a baby. Although he was very heavy, muscle probably, the _almighty Jean Kirschtein_ didn’t give in. I carried him forward to my bedroom, which was cold compared to the rest of the house. He seemed half awake, not really conscious of anything I was doing. Unbuttoning his shirt and removing his boxers and underwear may have seemed a perverted task, but to me at that moment, I only cared about Marco, not getting goddamn boners over his hot body. Below his eyes were huge dark bags from exhaustion and it was all my fault.

 

I slid a large white shirt over his head and lay him down in my bed. He unconsciously pulled the covers over him. He snuggled up and looked at me.

 

“Go to sleep,” I ordered. He wiped his eyes dry, I left mine wet, there wasn’t time to dry my own.

 

“Jean I-” He paused, “I’m sorry-”

 

“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” I explained, my voice whining as I said so, “Please sleep. Please. For me.” I pleaded. He looked unbearably tired and it pained me. He simply nodded.

 

Slowly, I stroked his face and stood up, “Goodnight Marco.” He drifted away almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the 30th December. A Saturday. The sky was still dark when I woke up, and my back ached from sleeping on the sofa, but I was glad to be home. I could hear Marco’s gentle breathing from the bedroom and I felt comforted. Quietly, I snook past him and hopped in the shower. Marco still lay asleep when I got out however I decided he deserved more sleep considering he’d missed it the previous three days. He’d also not eaten.

 

With that, I traveled over to a mini Tesco on the other side of the street to pick up some food. One thing that shocked me was that I bought some ready-made Italian cornettos, or croissants basically. Well, they were actually freshly made, homemade cornettos but just not made by me. The bakery’s finest, anyway. I picked up some apples and raisin strudels too, also homemade. I didn’t really care that I wasn’t the one who had made them, or that I’d basically broken the Kirschtein food law; I just wanted to make Marco an Italian breakfast. It was my apology.

 

As well as the cornettos and strudels, I bought fresh breakfast cookies, fried Cheese and Honey crepes and some Italian roast fresh coffee. I had some homemade jam back at the apartment so I didn’t bother buying any. Marco remained sleeping as I got to work on the food, warming up the pastries and using my expensive coffee machine to make cappuccinos.

 

Carefully, I lay out all the food onto a glass tray, painted with olive vines, and added one of Historia’s white roses next to the cappuccino. I set the tray on the bedside table. Marco looked adorable when he slept, but I figured it was time to wake him up for some food. Gently, I stroked his shoulder and brushed my fingers up his neck, over his jaw. I pulled my fingers softly through his hair and he opened his eyes.

 

“ _Buon Giorno_ , Marco.” I muttered in the best Italian accent I could muster. His sleepy eyes widened and I noticed the little creases appear at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

 

“Mmmh- _Seadas_ ,” He mumbled with a hint of happiness in his words, “I smell _seadas_ …”

 

I tilted my head in confusion. It was probably the proper name for one of the Italian foods I bought.

  
“Uh, yeah. You should eat up.” I pouted. Marco grinned and sat up, pulling the tray onto his lap.

 

“Oh Jean, these are my favourite pastries. How did you know-”

 

“Cause _every_ Italian eats this for breakfast. And _you’re_ Italian. So eat it.” I smirked. He giggled and dug into his food, savoring every bite.

 

“My Papa used to make _Seadas_ very often,” Marco began between sipping the cappuccino, “I’ve missed it very much. Abriana- um, Mum never cooks so, yeah, it’s been a while. Thanks.”

 

“Does your Father live in Italy?” I regretted asking that. What if he was dead? What if his parents had split up and it was a hard subject for Marco to talk about?

 

“ _Si_ ,” He smiled, “…yeah. He does. In a place called Jinae. We should go together one day, I’m sure you’d love it.”

 

I nodded. Going to Italy with Marco seemed like a dream. Definitely something I’d remind him of until it happened.

 

“Okay, well, I have to go and take my pills. Feel free to use the shower.” I smiled and started leaving the room.

 

“Thanks,” He replied, “But…” I turned and looked at him.

 

“Jean, we need to talk at some point.” He gave a sympathetic look, “It’s hard, but I’m not going to forget what happened four days ago. I’ll listen to anything you say, I promise. Okay?”

 

“Thank you.” Was all I replied.

 

* * *

 

 

“What’s your brothers name again?” I asked. It was exactly noon and we were driving in his car. Marco explained that he needed to get his little brother as he was being looked after while Marco waited in my apartment.

 

“Romeo.” He replied.

 

“…Are you kidding?”

 

“Nope. It’s just an Italian name. Trust me, I’m not David Beckham.”

 

I gasped sarcastically, “ _You don’t say…”_

Marco huffed, _“Romeo Bodt…_ I think it has a nice spring to it.” I’ll admit, it was a rather attractive name.

 

“I prefer _Marco Bodt_.” I raised my eyebrow and he blushed, “Anyway, who’s looking after the lil’ Montague?”

 

“ _How original_ ,” He snorted, “And Reiner and Bertl are looking after him.”

 

I choked, “You’re letting _Reiner_ look after your _four-year-old_ Brother!?” We both laughed.

 

I imagined Reiner taking a very confused mini-Marco to see a drag show or pulling him on to the dance floor of a gay bar. With Reiner, they were both more than possible.

 

“Wait, why are we driving to Croyde if they live next door to me?” I questioned as Croyde Bay appeared before us. It was rather isolated but I spotted some brave surfers in full body wetsuits. It was bloody freezing!

 

“Oh, well Bertl’s parents house is here. They’re working abroad right now and insisted that Bertl and Reiner look after the house while they’re away. Romeo loves it though, it’s _massive_.”

 

It really was massive. We pulled up on Bertholdts’ large driveway and my jaw dropped. It was very modern, with large rectangular windows and big wooden doors. There were many sections and parts to the house that you could not understand the logic of from the outside. There was also a balcony that looked directly out onto Croyde’s beach. I estimated that the house would cost around £1,000,000 – at least!

 

Marco locked the car and showed me to the front door. There were two plants in silver, modern-style pots either side of the door. The handle was in the centre of it, well it was more of a knob than a handle, but either way – it looked cool. Marco reached up and grabbed a key from the top of the doorframe.

 

“They’re probably in, but they left this anyway.” He explained as he opened the door. The big corridor smelled of pine trees and roses. The floor was wooden and glossy. In the distance I heard ‘She will be Loved’ playing from a radio, and footsteps. The footsteps were speedily getting closer and there were many of them.

  
“MARCO!!” Romeo, I guessed, called as he almost leapt into his older brother’s arms. Romeo was wearing black army-style books, black leggings with studs up the sides, a red tartan skirt and black and red _Slipknot_ t-shirt. I chuckled. Reiner then followed greeting us with a mischievous grin.

 

“ _Reiner_ , stop putting him in your scary band shirts!” Marco frowned sounding like a disappointed mother.

 

“Hey, Bertl dressed him, not me!” Reiner lifted his hands in the air like a criminal under arrest, but still smiling, “And _Slipknot_ are waaay better than _My Chemical Romance_.” Marco frowned but didn’t reply.

 

Romeo really did look like a miniature Marco. He had the same button nose, dark hair and sharp jawline. However, his eyes were green and he had much fewer freckles. I smiled at the thought of Marco in a tartan skirt.

 

“Ew, who’s that guy?” I realized Romeo was talking about me. I grimaced, gulping down a _Fuck off, kid_. I instead gave him an angry look.

 

“Haha! He kinda looks like a camel- wait no, a _horse._ ” Romeo giggled and skipped around in circles making a pitty-patty tune with his boots.

 

“Shut the hell up, freckled brat!” I called over to him and Marco looked at me in horror.

 

“Jean he’s four!” Marco cried.

 

“I don’t care! He just called me a horse!” I replied.

 

Marco laughed and chased Romeo of into another room and I walked over to Reiner who stood leaning against a door frame. He threw me a sympathetic glance and brought me into the kitchen.

 

A fresh coffee later, he opened his mouth to speak, “You doing okay?”

 

_Okay?_

 

I wasn’t too sure what to reply to that. I didn’t really feel too bad that day considering I was with Marco, or maybe it was the pills, but either way I wasn’t at breaking point. But then again, I had tried to kill myself four days ago, and I was on anti-depressants. I don’t think that was classed as ‘okay’.

 

“Walking wounded,” I smiled and looked into my mug, “Where's Bertl?” I asked changing the subject.

 

“Shopping. Romeo wanted cake, and we’re pretty low on food anyway. Ran out of condoms too-”

 

I choked, “Whoa, easy there!” Reiner laughed in response.

 

“Excuse me for having a sex life,” Reiner smirked, “ _Mr. Blushing Virgin_ …”

 

I pulled a ‘challenge accepted’ face, “I’ll have you know that I am not a virgin.”

 

Reiner grimaced, still keeping an eyebrow raised, “Go on, name one of your girlfriends then.”

 

“I’ll also have you know I’m very gay.” I stated, noticing how homo the conversation had gotten.

 

“Fine, boyfriends then.” The blonde tilted his head.

 

“I’d rather not name him actually…” I muttered.

 

Reiner sighed, “Okay, but you’re telling me eventually, okay? You know, I never would’ve guessed you were gay.”

 

I snorted, “Yeah, well, I guess I don’t fit into the _stereotypes_.”

 

* * *

 

Bertl returned at 2pm-ish with his bag of- well, I don’t really want to say what was in the bag. He greeted me kindly with that clumsy smile of his. I never really expected Bertl to be the kind of guy to listen to _Slipknot_ , it turned out that Reiner was actually the romantic one and a huge _Maroon 5_ fan if I must add.

 

Marco attempted to tell Romeo off for calling me a horse, but he still carried on being a little brat. He wasn’t so bad though, just playful and mischievous. Surprisingly, I actually didn’t mind kids. After all, they were just younger versions of older people. _Wow, how fucking smart Jean._

 

It turned out that Reiner and Bertl were Marco’s first friends when he moved to England five years before. Marco and Bertl met first, through drama, and anyone who makes friends with Bertl will end up meeting Reiner without a doubt.

 

Reiner and Bertholdt were like that. They were infatuated with each other. It was a rare kind of connection that they held between each other. Whatever one of them lacked, the other made up for and it was beautiful. I’m not saying they were perfect, nobody is, but together they were amazing. It was the kind of relationship I would never be able to achieve.

 

Later that evening we decided to take a trip to Woolacombe, well I say trip but it was only 10 minutes away. We all bought fresh ice cream, I clearly remember Marco getting tiramisu flavour and making a mental note that I’d make him some one day. The five of us walked down to the beach in awe at how the moon made a big path of light across the dark waves.

 

“When are you gonna surf again Marco?” Romeo asked his older brother and Marco blushed.

 

We all turned to look at him, “You can surf?!” Reiner exclaimed and started speaking again not even letting Marco answer, “Oooh, well I’m sure Jean would _love_ to see that…” He winked and Bertholdt elbowed him in the stomach.

 

“R-really?” Marco asked me, oblivious to what Reiner was really playing at. From the look in Romeo’s eyes, even _he_ knew what Reiner meant.

 

“Oh dear, Bertl, we have a dense one,” Reiner frowned putting on the act of Marco’s Father.

 

Bertl coughed, “Yes dear, but I’m sure he’ll understand one day…” They both looked of into the distance dramatically.

 

I stood up, “What’s there to understand,” I stated trying to ignore them, “If Marco can surf, good for him. I’d love to go and watch him surf-”

 

“Surf _you_ ,” Reiner raised an eyebrow, “Yep, we know you would, Jean.”

 

Romeo burst into giggles muttering an ‘ewww’ of some sorts. I turned to Marco who finally understood them and sat blushing and covering his mouth.

 

“Ignore them, Marco, they’re just horny.” I snorted in an attempt to embarrass them but Reiner just smiled.

 

“Yep, we sure are,” He chimed, slapping a blushing Bertl’s butt in the process.

 

“GUYS!” Marco looked quite angry at that point, “Romeo is _four_ , tone it down a bit.” We all apologized. After an hour or so we headed back to Bertholdts house. I cooked everyone some fresh pesto pasta, mostly for Marco to be honest. I got a few compliments from Reiner to my surprise, him being a complete twat and all.

 

While Marco took Romeo to bed to read him a story or whatever, I decided it was bedtime too. From a distance I could hear Marco singing Romeo a lullaby and it made me all the more sleepy.

 

“I don’t really know where I’m sleeping…” I stated, yawning in the process. Reiner and Bertl showed me upstairs. Apparently there were four bedrooms, one being Bertl’s parents’ room – which was off limits – one being a single bed room, Romeo’s, and the other two being double bedrooms, one for me and one for Reiner and Bertl.

 

“Wait so where’s Marco supposed to sleep?” I asked confusedly.

 

“Um, with you of course,” Reiner almost sassed back at me, “I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that.” He winked.

 

“Why couldn’t you have let Marco and Romeo share this room! I would have taken the single bed!” I stated.

 

“Romeo _hates_ sharing a bed, god Jean it’s only Marco.” Reiner snapped and he walked away, taking Bertl with him. I sat down on the bed, pulling off my shirt and pants. Marco, dressed in dorky PJ’s, walked over to me hesitantly.

 

“J-Jean, if you want I can go sleep on the sofa,” He offered and reached forward for a pillow to take with him.

 

I huffed and grabbed his arm, pulling him. I aimed to pull him onto the bed but he ended up landing on me. I hugged him and he hugged me back.

 

“Just sleep here, idiot.” I let go of him and we both lay down, pulling the covers over us. It was awkward for a moment until I was pulled into another hug. It felt like he was protecting me and I loved it.

 

For whatever reason, we just stayed like that, snuggled up under the duvet, holding each other. We embraced each other. I buried my face into his collarbone and inhaled his scent. I counted every breath he took until I fell asleep, not really wanting the morning to ever come. I thought of _tomorrow_ , not _yesterday_. It would be the 1st December, a real fresh start. And, at that weightless, infinite moment of time, I felt that Marco would be with me til the end of time


	7. Hotel California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last thing I remember, I was  
> Running for the door  
> I had to find the passage back  
> To the place I was before  
> "Relax, " said the night man,  
> "We are programmed to receive.  
> You can check-out any time you like,  
> But you can never leave! " 
> 
> \- Eagles, Hotel California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I am so sorry this is out so late. I have no excuses really. I've just been piled up in exam revision and dealt with a few personal problems too, family drama and whatnot. I'll try to update more now that my exams are over.
> 
> Secondly, check out my [song playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjAUpxoN5o23sfrfGAdsvW7E0HJAPexoy)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this happier chapter! I am unhappy with this one though because the amounts of speech vs the descriptions are so uneven. I'm sorry!!
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com/)

_“Eren,” I started as he sat himself on the end of my bed, “Isn’t it a little bit unfair to come over without Mikasa and Armin.”_

_It had been 2 months since I started hanging out with the three friends. Surprisingly, I really loved it. They were all great company and made it easier for me without Connie and Sasha joined at my hip. It was sometime in summer, I didn’t like keeping track of dates. Eren made a visit out of the blue to my house. Though, this was rather unusual, as he had come alone._

_“All you ever talk about is Mikasa, Jean,” Eren rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed, “I’m starting to think you have feelings for her.”_

_In all truth, I did have feelings for her. But those feelings were a mere crush from afar, you could call it ‘gazing’. I never actually considered being with her, doing anything romantic, platonic or…anything else with her. Ever since I’d met Eren Jaeger and gotten to actually talk to Mikasa, I had been much more fond of Eren than I had of her. I mean, that sounds really gay, but it’s the truth._

_Mikasa was bland and quiet. And incredibly boring too. Yeah, she was gorgeous and everything- but I didn’t care for looks. Eren on the other hand was quirky. He was fun and made me laugh most of the time. His wild and almost mercurial behavior made me intrigued. I wanted to know everything about him. He was the kind of person that no matter how hard I tried to get to know him, there was always more to learn. In the end it felt like I was chasing him and that if I stopped I’d just end up at the beginning of the track again._

_So, to wrap it up, my ‘feelings’ for Mikasa had long faded._

_“I did like her,” I sighed, “In a kiddy-crush kind of way.”_

_Eren just raised an eyebrow._

_“I don’t like her that way anymore.”_

_Eren smiled a big smile. Like I said, he was mercurial. I never knew what emotions he would portray next. He’d literally just gone from sounding grumpy and pissed to smiling like an idiot._

_God, his smile was wonderful. Every time is perfect white set of teeth were revealed between his wide-set, peach pink, Cheshire cat grinning lips, his eyes illuminated. I was mature enough to admit to myself that I had constant gay thoughts about Eren. I wasn’t the kind of guy to freak out about that though. At age 13, you’re slap bang in hormones. It’s quite possibly the most normal thing ever to question your sexual orientation at that age. And I was mature enough to know that anyone who denied it was a big liar._

_I took a big sip of iced coffee as he began speaking, “Come on, Jean,” He shuffled into an extremely sexy position, biting gently at the end of his fingertips, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”_

_I choked on my coffee and started laughing, “Goddamn Eren,”_

_He started laughing too, “What? Titanic is fantastic.”_

_“I mean, I haven’t drawn any French girls, but I can draw you if you want?”_

_He laughed, “Okay, make me look real nice.”_

_I looked at him. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand. His other arm lay casually on his hipbone. His neck and his collarbones were revealed. I could see the tanned glow of his skin. I’m pretty sure I blushed but I didn’t care anymore._

_“You already do.”_

 

* * *

 

 

It was a dark, gloomy morning. I hadn’t quite processed where I was. There was no light coming through the cream curtains, not unexpected though, considering it was December. The very first day of my favourite month. The fourth day after... _that_ happened. Maybe everything was like a rollercoaster. You go over that first bump, the biggest, but there are so many more to follow. I would just have to accept that in order to get to the end of the rollercoaster, I'd have to go over a few more bumps in the ride.

 

That's right. I'd experienced my second big bump in the ride. I honestly should have realized the potential energy building up as I reached the peak. But it had transferred into kinetic energy. I had gone fast and unexpected down the other side of the peak. It was terrifying, but I did it. And something inside me just knew that more potential energy was being built up, it was like _suicide_ , literally. However, rollercoasters have a specific design. The bumps after the first one are never as big because there just isn't enough energy to get you over a hill of the same size. Maybe it was wind resistance. Maybe it was that some of the energy had dispersed into heat and sound. That was an almost satisfying thought to me. The bumps to follow wouldn't be as bad as the first.

 

But the other half of me knew that this whole rollercoaster talk was purely a metaphor based of some physics coursework I'd done back in High School. Life actually didn't go like that. Life was even more unexpected than a rollercoaster. And life had ways of making the second, third, fourth bumps even bigger. Illogical fate. I believed in the philosophical side of life rather than the scientific one.

 

Chaos says that a prediction of what might happen in a certain situation can be made from simple deterministic equations. There were no simple equations for me. It all depended on what I did to help myself. I could try and make the hills smaller. I could try and bring the ride to an end. I would have to try my hardest to control my fears, but in the end, you achieve a lot from trying. You achieve from pushing yourself harder. And the result is one of the best feelings ever.

 

Out of thought, I moved my arm slightly, but it was held down by a weight. I groaned a little. There was a big silence except for light snoring. Carefully, I looked closely at whatever was before me.

 

Sharing a bed with another man was definitely something I hadn't done in a long time. Well, I'd have liked to say it was something new, but it wasn't. Though, I won't talk about that just yet. I tried to shake of the thrill of the situation; after all, Marco was a friend and nothing more. He was my dumb, dorky, freckled straight-boy. And he was quite literally lying over my arm.

 

I wiggled my fingers to make sure my arm hadn’t stopped working. That sounds mean – but he really was heavy. He was slim and toned, lots of muscle on him. He was tall too, though only a few inches more than me. My final analysis was that the weight came from his height, muscles and freckles. Surely they weighed something, right?

 

My right arm laid across his narrow hipbone, my left leg shoved between his. In the simplest of explanations: I could not move. I was happy there though. The soft warmth of his breath was soothing and yet still electrifying. He smelled like coffee, hard-work and hope. Mostly coffee though. But all in all, he smelled beautiful. My lips brushed his shoulder gently and I embraced him. He was so pretty, so amazing, entire universes within his neatly shut ayes. It made me want to cry. God, he was wonderful.

 

All the effort he had gone to, just for me, just to help me through my stupid, fucking stupid problems and I had given him nothing but a breafast in return. I wanted to give him more. I wanted to show him how thankful I was. How thankful I would be til the day I die.

 

I burrowed my face in his shoulder, lips now pressed against his collarbone, and shut my eyes again, hoping to get a bit more sleep knowing he was right beside me. Then I heard it.

 

_Snap!_

 

The sound of a camera. I opened my eyes to see Reiner stood at the side of the bed, his phone in his hand. There was a devious smile planted across his face.

 

“You little shit!” I shouted, stirring Marco. I wiggled around in an attempt to move.

 

Freckles hummed in confusion, “Jeeean,” He patted my head weakly, “You’ll wake up Romeo!” He clearly wasn’t awake fully and had no clue what was even happening. But, _goddamn_ , he was adorable. He had a messy bed head and he yawned so gently, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. I wiggled in a more gentle manner, but he just wrapped himself around me tighter, oblivious to everything except his silent dreams. I couldn't resist the urge to relax for a moment just to breathe him in again.

 

_Snap!_

 

“REINER!” I rolled Marco off my arm, successfully, and hopped up on my feet. My legs seemed like jelly because I fell back down after attempting to stand, “Why the fuck are you taking pictures?”

 

He winked, “Oh, you two just looked so cute sleeping together, I thought I’d send it to Ymir!”

 

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

 

He cackled and ran out of the room. I decided to chase him, but Marco pulled me back down.

 

He let out another hum, still half asleep, “Too noisy.”

 

And once again, he rolled onto my arm and I was unable to move.

 

 _This guy_.

 

I couldn't even be angry at Marco for letting Reiner just get away with his mischievous acts because he was so damn perfect. I just spent the rest of the time I could stroking the scar at the bridge of his nose, and the one over his lower lip. Brushing my fingers over the freckles on his cheeks and his dark eyelashes. Pressing my nose against his so gently it could be considered not even happening. But it was. And I had never felt so comfortable within myself than the time I was wrapped up in Marco's humane arms.

 

I told myself that what happened three days ago had to be forgotten and I would do my best to avoid talking Marco about it. It was embarrassing. I was ashamed. How could I let myself, after getting so far, fall right back down and crumble against the ground. It was like the whole world was going my way, but it all fell back on me. It's so selfish to feel sorry for myself when I knew how much worse it could be. But maybe I was just selfish. Just like it was selfish to deny Marco's request of talking to him about everything. I didn't want ti be reminded about how easily I could be dragged along a pavement.

 

Was it so bad to want to forget?

 

* * *

 

 

After the stay at Bertholdt’s house, I started work again. Romeo and Marco went back to their house, and things carried on as usual. But it seemed as though Hanji had definitely heard the news about my _visit_ to the hospital because they wouldn’t stop mithering me. I mean, it seems ungrateful to be annoyed that they wouldn’t shut up about it, because I guess they were just showing that they cared about me. It felt odd to think that anyone cared, but they did. That was something I’d have to accept. Something I’d have to _believe_.

 

I apologized for worrying them and swore I wouldn’t do it again. I wasn’t making any promises. Though, I had people around me that cared, so I didn’t feel any need at that moment to die.

 

Hanji gave me a big hug, and so did Petra, and they even gave me a _free_ coffee. I thanked them and apologized again.

 

Luckily for me, it was over pretty quickly so I didn't have to feel the shame for long.

 

Something odd happened though. I was making the last cappuccino of the night when a tall, large-eye browed man walked over to me. I gave him some sort of weak smile and he huffed.

 

“I can’t believe you,” Erwin said abruptly.

 

“Excuse me?” I replied.

 

He did a patronizing chuckle and said, “ _You don’t know how easy you’ve got it.”_

I nodded and carried on with my work. I saw sense in what Erwin was saying obviously. I had it very easy. I had already decided that in my most depressing moments I would tell myself that _it could be worse_. It really could. I could have been abused. I could have been raped. I could have been in absolute poverty. I could have lost all of my family in a tragic accident. I could have been starving, I could have been critically ill. God, I was so ungrateful about everything life offered. Despite the fact I knew I had so much, I still got bothered by those fears that grew under my skin. I would have done anything to rid of them. Just like I had tried. And even my attempted suicide failed to exterminate the fears. I'd have to live with them.

 

Marco hadn’t come to work that night so I left Kaffihús alone. It was dark and freezing outside. I zipped up my parka and walked into the entrance of my apartment block. The cleaner wasn’t there that night. It seemed very deserted. However, once I reached the top floor after climbing the _millions_ of stairs, I saw a familiar face storming over to me carrying a bucket of emotions that I honestly couldn’t infer from her body language. Historia.

 

I didn’t have a single chance to speak or even move an inch before I felt a hard slap at my cheek. And once again, I was disallowed any kind of communication before she wrapped her small arms around me in a tight hug. It didn’t take long for me to realize she was crying.

 

“Historia?” I muttered weakly.

 

“No- Yes. Wait, god will you just shut up!” She let out a big sob, “I’ve been so worried about you! You big idiot! And you didn’t even _think_ to come and see me after all of this?”

 

I forced myself to not cry, “I’m sorry, I-”

 

She hugged me tighter, “No, don’t speak. You’re okay and that’s all that matters.”

 

When she finally let go, she gave me a worried smile. I gave an apologetic smile back. There was a big sting at my cheek.

 

“Damn, my cheek hurts.” I half joked. It did sting, but I wasn’t angry.

 

A taller girl appeared from behind Historia, “You deserved that slap,” Ymir stated, “But you also deserved the hug.”

 

I thanked her and smiled. Ymir put one of her big hands on my shoulder, “Come on buddy, let’s go watch some films or something.”

 

I found myself in their apartment. I told them I was still in my work uniform but they wouldn’t let me return to my apartment, despite it being literally next-door. Instead, Ymir handed me an oversized T-Shirt and some boxer shorts. I knew she wore boy’s clothes but I didn’t imagine her to wear boxers too. She seemed to not mind me wearing a pair. I asked to shower but they wouldn’t even let me leave their sight.

 

“You must be hungry,” Historia stated, “We were thinking of ordering a pizza.”

 

So, in Christianity there are 7 deadly sins. These sins are wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. I was never religious, but I knew those sins well enough. My point is that if I were god, I would completely change it to _eight_ deadly sins. The eighth being ‘Ordering Takeaways’. And I made that point very clear when I slammed my fist _hard_ onto the table causing Historia _and_ Ymir to jump out of their skins.

 

“I don’t know _who_ you think you are, or who you think _I_ am, but no one, and I mean _no one_ , orders takeaway pizza around _me_ without dying a horrifying and gruesome death.” They both looked at me bog-eyed, too terrified to even be offended.

 

“In other words, I was raised a certain way and I refuse to eat takeaway _anything_. I despise the thought. You’re going to let me go over to my house and get some ingredients and I will make the best pizza you have every eaten, okay?”

 

They both nodded, completely synchronized, too confused and scared to say a thing. I arrived back at their apartment 5 minutes later with a bundle of ingredients and a mentally noted recipe of my Father’s most infamous pizza.

 

Historia helped me make the dough to absolute perfection. Ymir joined us for the topping part. We ended up making two pizzas. Mediterranean vegetable and meat feast. We began watching _Alien_ while they cooked (and filled their bland smelling apartment with a wonderful aroma).

 

“Ellen Ripley is totally hot.” Ymir stated out of the blue.

 

“Babe, Sigourney Weaver is like…65.”

 

“I might be 65, you never know…” Ymir scoffed and Historia cringed, “Anyway, I don’t have a crush on _Sigourney Weaver_ , I have a crush on her _character_ Ellen Ripley, not the _actor_ that plays her.”

 

Historia nodded and rolled her eyes, “You and your fictional crushes.” Ymir chuckled and I did too. I decided to keep quiet about my massive crush on Mako from _The_ _Legend of Korra_ or Tate Langdon in _American Horror Story_. I’d only be laughed at.

 

When the timer went off on the oven, we all leapt up like a pack of hungry animals. Historia said something like ‘all meals must be eaten at a table’ and so we found ourselves sitting patiently, waiting for Historia to cut up the pizzas.

 

“Oh my god, Jean, fucking amazing.” Ymir mumbled enthusiastically, pizza still in her mouth.

 

“I’m not even going to tell her off for her language, this is so good that swearing is allowed.”

 

Ymir nodded excitedly, “Marco told us about your food but we didn’t expect it to be _this_ good.”

 

I coughed a little, “Marco talked about my cooking?”

 

I took a bite of the pizza and waited for one of them to answer. The sweet sensation of the sauce and the taste of freshly cooked onion spread over my taste buds. I appreciated my own food because, hot damn, it was good.

 

“Mhmm, he talks about you a lot. ‘Jean made me laugh in art’ or ‘Jean cooked this amazing lasagne!’ or ‘Jean looks so cool in his uniform, like a proper professional!’” Ymir chuckled.

 

“Ymir!” Historia hissed, “He told us to not say anything about that.”

 

Ymir started laughing and shrugged her shoulders. Historia gave a ‘don’t tell him she told you’ look and I nodded and carried on eating. Once we finished we went back in to the living room and watched a few more films before I finally returned to my apartment.

 

I couldn’t sleep that night. My head was filled with so many thoughts.

 

The weird part was that they were all about Marco.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day something unexpected happened. It was really rainy outside. I mean, the rain wasn’t the unexpected thing. It was England after all. And the second of December, may I add. The unexpected part of this story was that, when I left the apartment block for school, I noticed a familiar red Audi parked up on the pavement, engine still buzzing.

 

“Hop in, Jean, wouldn’t want to walk in the rain would you?” Marco gleamed through the window.

 

I did as he commanded and slid into the passenger seat, “Marco, you’re a savior.”

 

He chuckled and we began driving the short distance to the University campus. Marco sang a gentle hum as he drove, tapping one hand on the steering wheel, holding the wheel tightly with his other. I decided that listening to him make sweet noises and joyful tunes was the best kind of music ever to exist.

 

“You have to start plotting the script today,” Marco began as we walked through one of the entrances to the Writing buildings of the English section of campus, “You probably didn’t hear about it, but the exams have been moved to after the Christmas holidays.”

 

I nodded along with him, forcing an enthusiastic smile. That’s when I realized that Christmas break was coming quickly. My favourite time of the year was right around the corner and I hadn’t even considered how I would actually celebrate it. I certainly couldn’t afford to go to France to see my parents, and I wasn’t sure if they could afford to come and see me. I decided to think about the situation later rather than at 8am.

 

After shaking off the thought, I realized Marco was still talking, and felt a wave of guilt for not listening to his precious voice.

 

“-I’m glad though. Having school work over the holidays will be a good distraction so I’m okay with the replacement.”

 

I interrupted him, “So you’re happy to have work over the break to distract you?”

 

He nodded and smiled, looking up at the ceiling and shuffling his dorky glasses back into place.

 

“Distract you from what?” I tilted my head to the left.

 

He hummed, thinking of a way to phrase it, “Being alone.”

 

I was going to question him more but _Ymir decided to stick her big obnoxious gob in the way and started talking about some completely uninteresting shit that I really, really didn’t care about because all I wanted was to know what Marco meant by himself being lonely and I wanted to question him and-_ I ended the mental rambling and huffed loudly.

 

“It’s too early for you, Ymir.” I sighed, earning a soft chuckle from Historia.

 

I turned to Marco and gave him a ‘You’d better talk to me later or else.’ He smiled weakly and Ymir dragged us both into scripting class.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, the main character is a guy?” Marco asked.

 

I nodded.

 

“Okay, um, and we’re aiming for heartfelt?”

 

I nodded.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this damn hard to put together a plot, but Brzenska clearly stated at the beginning of the lesson that was most definitely had to have an original one. That kind of made the whole ‘Run, Melos’ adaptation idea fly right out of the window. Marco, in the politest way possible, lacked creativity. I mean, I can understand that, he was a singer and an actor, not an author. Writing and coming up with stories, presumably, wasn’t his thing. I won’t at all but the blame on him entirely because I was completely out of it. For years I’d worked alone when writing and so the transition seemed unnatural.

 

Okay, that’s one big excuse.

 

The truth is that: Sat in front of me, he bit softly on the end of his pen, gazing tentatively out of the window at – I didn’t know. He looked deep in thought, mesmerized by everything around him like it was just so amazing compared to what he’d seen before. The corners of his lips twitched occasionally, almost like they were forming a smile, but instead fell into a sigh. It was hard to tell what he was thinking about. But his chocolate eyes brightened and his cheeks flushed an almost non-existent pink. The freckles were defined up close; I noticed more of them along his jaw and to the sides of his eyes. His lips were beautiful. Soft, delicate, like a rose. Marco distracted me because all I could think about was tracing my thumb across his cheek with such gentleness because, fuck, it felt like a single touch could make Marco break. He was strong, that’s for sure, but there was something about him that I had to learn. I couldn’t figure it out.

 

His other hand tapped at the table, a tune that only he knew. Marco’s own little drum beat. It occurred to me that I didn’t know much about him at all. Sure, it had only been three weeks, but it felt longer. It felt like there was a connection, like we’d met before. And yet still, I really knew nothing about him. It was unsettling.

 

“So the idea,” Marco began, pulling me out of my trance, “We have to decide.”

 

I let out a sigh, “I know, I know. I have to write it, you have to learn it. Sorry Marco, I’m out of it today.”

 

He smiled a worried smile, “It’s cool, we’ve got like, over a month.”

 

I nodded and we spent the rest of the lesson in peace. He’d look out of the window, and I’d watch him. I'd wonder why his eyebrows furrowed like he was thinking about something unsettling. I’d listen to his every breath until I felt like it was a melody.

 

* * *

 

 

Art and French passed quickly. I seemed to have lost control of time. There was stuff on my mind and most of it I didn’t even process.

 

The entirety of French was spent watching _La Haine_ with Ymir saying she’d much rather watch _Blue Is The Warmest Colour_. Inevitably, she earned a crimson blush from Historia – after all, it’s basically a Lesbian porn film. I wasn’t surprised though, Ymir was pretty open about all things sexual.

 

I decided to tag along with Reiner for Lunch. Bertl was helping out with some Student Council business so he looked pretty lonely without him. Ymir joined us too, Historia was also busy with Student Council, and honestly I wouldn’t have been surprised if Marco was with them too.

 

“I want to take Bertl out for a meal,” Reiner said – with a huge forkful of rice in his mouth, “But he is afraid of being seen out on a date with me. I feel super lame asking, but can I have some advice?”

 

Ymir snorted, “We Lesbians are brilliant at eating out,” Reiner gave her a look of un-amusement, “But in all seriousness, Bertholdt needs to get a grip.”

 

“He does.” I stated, looking up to the left in thought. They both turned to look at me.

 

“What do you mean?” Reiner asked.

 

Ymir let out a long groan of frustration, but I did the talking, “Well, he cares about you, I know he does. In fact, I hear you’ve been together for ages. So he shouldn’t give a shit about what people think about him. Other people’s views shouldn’t mean a thing. If he loves you then he should be _proud_ to be with you. Do you see what I’m saying?”

 

“You’re saying he doesn’t love me?” Reiner pouted which was actually amusing in contrast to his though, manly looks.

 

Ymir slammed her hand on the table, “Jesus, get a grip and tell him how you feel, Reiner. I go out with Historia all the time and people don’t care. It’s 2014, we’re in a city full of students, not many people would bat an eyelid at a gay couple.” She pushed out of her chair and walked over to the bin, throwing her sandwich in it and leaving the Canteen.

 

I threw Reiner a sympathetic smile and left the canteen myself.

 

It felt good to have achieved three more friends. Well, It felt good to have achieved everything I had in that month of November. Although the suicide and the pills weren't stories to tell my children, the stories about my friends, Romeo's too excitable personality, my constant stressing at people for their lack of knowledge and skill in food. There were small things that I would remember for the rest of my life.

 

All these small things, were big to me. They were my hardships, my positives, my memories, my everything. A person without the small things they earn from living would be a shell. You need that bitter sweet taste of reality, those feathers of lead, to understand who you are and what your meaning is. Even if I couldn't figure it out right then and there, I knew I would. I had Marco to help me. I had others too. I had them all there for me. I felt stronger.

 

I let out an elongated sigh, looking up into the air. And I regretted not looking where I was going because I felt myself bump right into someone. I looked down, and then up.

 

“Oh, sorry about that Jean,” Marco smiled, “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 

I smiled back and rubbed my forehead where it had whacked his, “No problem. I wasn’t looking either.”

 

There was a small moment of silence where we just looked at each other. Then my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the number, it just said ‘unknown’.

 

“You should answer it,” Marco said, “I’m here with you so it’ll be okay.”

 

I took a deep breath and pressed the green answer button. _Stronger_.

 

“Jean, is that you?” I sighed in relief.

 

“ _Maman,_ you scared me then. Why are you calling me on my phone, I’m at school?” I asked. She usually just called me on the landline at about 6pm.

 

“Yes, sorry to disturb you, I just had something to tell you.” She sounded a little melancholy.

 

I gulped, and Marco looked concerned, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Your Grandmother has passed away.”

 

Okay, so I have made it out like I didn’t really care about my Grandmother, but truthfully, I did. And so, despite all the years I had prepared myself that she was dying, it still shocked me a little. That's the sad thing about loosing a family member, you don’t know the pain until it happens. Of course, I didn’t start screaming and bawling my eyes out. But I did let out a small sob. It was like...a sudden tilt in the rollercoaster rather than a bump. Those tilts that lean the cart to the side in a way that makes you feel like you'll fall and pulls out an unsettling wobble in your stomach. Though, it wasn't so bad. I would get through it.

 

My grandmother was important in some ways, but I wasn't so close to her that it would break me down. Though, I knew Mother would be devastated, and that was what mattered the most.

 

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t want to upset you at school.”

 

I decided that my Mother would be devastated, and that was what mattered the most, and so I wiped away my tears and spoke, “No, I’m okay, I just- Are you okay?”

 

I could almost hear her nodding, “Yes, I’m fine, I was a lot worse earlier. Jean boy, you should get back to lesson; I promise I’ll call you later.”

 

I tried to hold back another sob, mostly because of the pain I heard in my Mother's voice, “Talk to you later, I love you, _Maman_. Tell Papa I love him too.”

 

I knew this wasn't the way Mother would want to call me after Dad had left me to be with her. Come to think of it, I hadn't called them once since Dad had left, they were probably worried sick. I felt disappointed in myself for forgetting. Maybe they called while I was in hospital? That would have worried them even more. I would never tell them about that. But I made a promise to myself that I'd call them as soon as I returned home.

 

Luckily, even if I wasn't there for my Mother to comfort her after Grandmother's death, I knew Father was. And although the thought of them, sad, upset and so far away made me miss them deeply, I had to remind myself that it was for the best and that we'd all just have to carry on.

 

She ended the call and I turned back to Marco.

 

“Here.” He held out his thumb and wiped away the tears forming in my eyes, “Want a snuggle?”

 

I smirked, then giggled, then laughed, “A snuggle?!”

 

He blushed embarrassedly, but I appreciated his attempts at cheering me up, “You know, a snuggle sounds nice.”

 

He gave me a big hug and I breathed in his scent. Presumably, he had heard the entire conversation; otherwise he would have had no clue what had just happened. The corridors were quiet too, so a phone call would easily be heard.

 

“Hey,” Marco began, though I stayed hugging him, “Want to come to band practice?”

 

* * *

 

 

The band room was quite big. It was painted lime green and white, giving it a fresh look. It smelled like almond too, which was something I chose not to question. It turned out that Historia and Bertholdt were in the band too, Historia playing the piano and Bertl playing drums. Annie, who I knew from Kaffihús, was also there playing bass. I hadn’t realized she was even in my University. Then again, there were a few people i hadn't even realized were in the Uni. Marco said he sang and played acoustic guitar.

 

“Oh crap,” Marco stated and walked over to me. We had been waiting for the other band members to arrive for about 6 minutes. It was out of the blue, but Marco came over looking panicked.

 

“The other band members are-” He was interrupted by the door opening revealing exactly who Marco was just going to warn me about. _Cliché much_.

 

“Good Afternoon everyone!” Armin smiled as he walked into the small room. He looked at me wide-eyed. He looked as young as he always had. His hair was still in the exact same bob-cute, blond and silky. He still wore skirts and dresses. The one he was wearing suited him well, it was all black and lacy, and went well with his white Doctor Martins.

 

“Nice to see you again, Armin.” I said, sounding as strong as possible. Mikasa followed in behind him. I took a deep breath.

 

“Jean, I-” Armin began but I interrupted him with a smile.

 

“As long as Jaeger doesn’t arrive, I’m fine.” I turned to the dark haired girl, “Hello, Mikasa!”

 

Marco, Armin, Historia and even Mikasa all looked at me like I was crazy. I simply cannot describe how I felt at the time they walked into the classroom. Maybe it was because I was in the presence of my three friends, maybe it was the fact that it was only Armin and Mikasa, but I wasn't scared at all. I would have been if it were Eren to arrive, but he didn't. It was okay.

 

Somehow, we ended up chatting for a while. Apparently Mikasa was a second guitarist and Armin composed the songs, organized the music selection and ordered everyone to do stuff. Mikasa and Bertl also acted as background vocalists, which shocked me because playing drums while singing is extremely hard.

 

“Alright guys, we’re going to start with Song 3.” Armin started.

 

The whole point of band practice was that in March there would be a school concert. I knew that there was a show in January, but apparently that was just for the drama students. The music students had been practicing for this concert for a month. The woodwind club, the brass club, the percussion club, the string club, the school choir…they were all participating. But Marco’s band was the one doing the concerts’ main songs. And funnily enough, they didn’t even have a name.

 

“Which one is Song 3?” Annie asked with her monotone voice.

 

“Umm,” Armin mumbled as he looked through some files, “Hotel California…but I can’t seem to find any piano sheets.”

 

“What?!” Historia cried, “How am I supposed to play if I don’t know the notes?”

 

Marco looked at me and I sighed.

 

“The original doesn’t even have piano in it, but if you’re looking to incorporate piano in it, I can play it…” I explained. I had 8 years worth of piano lessons, and Hotel California was one of the songs my fingers played fluently. Though, I strongly felt that the songs should not be played on piano. It ruined the cool…mysterious feel about it.

 

“So would you suggest we even play piano in it?” Armin asked.

 

I shook my head, “Most definitely not. I’m sure that is why there is no piano sheet in the folder.”

 

Historia sighed, “Well I get to play in most of the other songs so it's fine.”

 

There was a lot of shuffling into positions. Armin plugged in a stereo. Apparently the background noises like the ‘tingles’ and the maracas were all pre-recorded. He tapped the play button and did a countdown.

 

“One, two, a one-two-three-four!”

 

Marco and Mikasa, strumming gently at their guitars, played the opening part of the song. Personally, I preferred Marco’s playing because I had a love for acoustic guitars. After 51 seconds (specific, I know, but yes – I counted down to the drum part. What? Marco was singing…), the drum hit two beats and Annie played her first note on the bass. The best part, of course, was Marco.

 

“ _On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair,”_ He began. His voice was gentle, soothing. I had this strange feeling of excitement and greed. I had only taken one bite, but I already felt desperate to eat the rest. I wanted Marco to sing and every moment that he wasn’t felt agonizing.

 

He sang and played along in perfect timing with everyone else. They played smoothly up til the best part – the chorus. Bertholdt hit the drums with passion and then Marco sang:

 

“ _Welcome to the Hotel California!_ ” Mikasa played her electric guitar wonderfully between his words, “ _Such a lovely place_ ,”

 

Then Mikasa and Bertholdt joined in with him for the second, “ _Such a lovely place_.”

 

I cannot describe how well they all played with each other. Okay, maybe I was bias because _Hotel California_ was one of my very favourite songs. Obviously, the original version was better, but I still got that same incredible thrill when Marco sang my personal favourite part:

 

“ _You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave!”_

Sadly, they couldn’t practice a second song because Bertholdt had to leave early. Though, the good news was that the song was a success and Armin was able to write it down on the list of songs they would definitely be doing in the concert. Marco seemed happy with the result.

 

Mikasa locked up the music department, as we were the only people left in the building. Historia offered to drive me home and Marco seemed a little sad about that. I wasn’t sure why though.

 

“Jean.” Armin stated and everyone went silent, “I have to talk you about everything, you knew it was coming,” He paused, “ _Please_.”

 

Taking a deep breath, I knew I had to discuss things with him too. It was time to brave up and do it.

 

I nodded, “Okay, want to discuss it over dinner?” I said as my stomach let out a grumble, mostly nerve rather than hunger.

 

Historia understood, smiled, and headed over to her car on her own. Annie said her goodbyes, kissing Mikasa almost violently on her thin lips before heading over to her car too. I gave up on being surprised at who was gay or straight. As the two blondes disappeared into the night, the December rain stopped, causing us to sigh with some relief. At this point, only me, Mikasa, Armin and Marco remained.

 

 _Marco_.

 

I really wanted to talk to him.

 

Tell him how beautiful his voice was.

 

I also had to ask him about what he had said earlier, about how he needed a distraction.

 

But I knew it was much more important to discuss the recent _situations_ with Armin and Mikasa. In fact, it was Marco who told me I had to talk to Armin. I would do it for him. I would try just like he had tried so hard for me.

 

I pulled my keys out of my pocket silently, and removed the spare one. I slid it discreetly into Marco’s hand and whispered in his ear, “We still have to talk, come to my apartment at some point. Keep the key if you want. I _kind of_ enjoy your company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He says "kind of" but he reeaaaally loves it.


	8. I'll Be There For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one could ever know me  
> No one could ever see me  
> Seems you're the only one who knows what it's like to be meNo one could ever know me  
> No one could ever see me  
> Seems you're the only one who knows what it's like to be me  
> Someone to face the day with, make it through all the rest with  
> Someone I'll always laugh with  
> Even at my worst, I'm best with you, yeah!
> 
> \- The Rembrandts, I'll Be There For You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this is a bigger chapter. I did a lot of describing here. Less dialogue.
> 
> There is a lot of character development here for Jean, Marco and even Romeo.
> 
> For all of you that are confused, that's okay. Jean is telling his story chronologically, it will reveal itself with time. 
> 
> I quoted Tess of the D'urbervilles and sense8 in this lol. 
> 
> Enjoy, for this is a rare, happy chappy xD
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com/)

Friendship is an ambiguous word.

Throughout the 21 years of my life, I only had five major friends, that was up until the day I met Historia anyway. Five friends. (That’s excluding my parents – It’d be weird to class them as friends, right?) I definitely didn’t have a so-called best friend. You see, the thing about my friends was that they all played different roles on the show that was my life.

Connie and Sasha were my childhood friends. They were sidekicks. Those kinds of people, who would seemingly be there for you all the time, make you feel like a king. They were by my side, until our inevitable separation came along thanks to education and the ridiculous amount of High Schools in Trost.

They made my sun rise in the morning, gave me a reason to want to get out of my bed and start the day. God, those times were special.

The freedom of childhood is a beautiful thing to look back on. Innocence, dreams, thinking the whole world is just a path you can skip down easily.

Unfortunately, there was no path, no yellow brick road. I was definitely not Dorothy, and Connie and Sasha weren’t Lions or Tin-men or Scarecrows.

They were just mere Munchkins stood aside the road, cheering me on and then leaving me to do the hard parts alone.

It would have been amazing to have someone…someone like Marco to be with me the whole way. I didn’t have that. Eren was the most special person to me, though he still wasn’t my best friend, he was more of a treasure. Someone that I treasured deeply up until the incident at the end of High School.

I never felt regret for treasuring him because they were the best times of my life. They were the times where the world really opened up and I found Emerald City. But even Emerald City crashed down on me. Shards of the beautiful green stone, slashing down and slicing wounds over my body.

Although, I knew that if I’d never met Eren, things would have gone smoothly and I would have a less restricted life in which I didn’t fear the trust others offered, I learned to accept things how they were. Even if that meant never, ever forgiving him.

In all of this, I can think of two people who were there, somehow by my side. They were there when Connie and Sasha left. They were there when the incident happened. And despite the three college years when we separated, I could forget that, because they had real reason to leave me.

Armin and Mikasa.

My ruby slippers. Sure they didn’t actually take me back to a farmhouse somewhere in Kansas, but they were comforting. Kind of like home, just with a few hardships.

I shut my eyes and tapped my feet together in thought as Armin’s shiny black Alfa Romeo pulled up outside Gustoso. They threw me a comforting smile and I followed them towards the restaurant.

“Table for three, please.” Armin’s voice was soft, nostalgic and saccharine.

The waiter at the door looked disapprovingly at the blonde-boy’s floral get up, but backed off at what I’m assuming was Mikasa’s death glare. Despite my cheap looking clothing, he didn’t seem to judge me as I followed the pair.

I knew not to point out that Gustoso was miles out of my price range because Armin was paying. Armin always paid. It was half his benevolent and gracious nature and half the fact that he came from a rich family. He and his grandfather lived in the West of Trost, the richest part.

Honestly, it was natural for me to have assumed he’d have gone to Yalkell University, the third most prestigious Uni in England and right around the corner to Armin’s house. Heck, with his brains he could have made it in to Oxford or Cambridge. But no, he ended up in an average Uni studying Spanish and Composition.

We were seated on a table with four seats, the forth being a handy place for Armin’s handbag of course. Armin ordered some champagne and shooed off the waiter.

“So,” Armin began, “I honestly can’t think where to start.” I bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say either. I just wanted to get it over with. I fiddled with the expensive cutlery laid by my hand, tapping the table with my other.

The blood-red material of the tablecloth felt soothing against my nervous, shaking finger.

Mikasa opened her thin lips anything but hesitantly, “Well, first of all, we have actually talked to Eren.” I opened my mouth in surprise.It felt weird to hear that.

Honestly, I kicked Eren far and hard out of my life, so I just assumed he would never even want to say my name after that.

“Eren talked about me?” My voice squeaked a little, but neither of them laughed. They were kind and supportive. Their aim wasn’t to humor me.

“Not about you specifically, but about what happened.” Mikasa had a clear voice, not throaty or harsh, but smooth, satin and honest. She had no hesitation when speaking, no regret and no limits. What she wanted to say would always be said. Sometimes it was hard to get used to, but after two years of crushing on her in my straight-phase, and three more years of a good friendship, I managed to jot down her traits in my mental notebook.

“What,” I hesitated asking the question for a second, “did he say?” Armin’s movements were painfully slow. He picked up his champagne glass between gentle fingers and took a light sip for good measure.

The glass was placed back on the table in slow motion; a finger twirled around the tip of the glass before he looked up and decided to reply.

“He told us something, Jean, something that we cannot tell you.” Can’t tell me? Well, I fucking knew full well exactly what he had done. I knew, and it haunted me. There were things he never told me, sure, because I didn’t let him. I kicked him out my life just the way he deserved because he was tearing me down.

“Though, I think a time will come when he tells you the truth, Jean.” Mikasa had spoken this time, her voice monotone and plain. What truth was there to tell? I didn’t understand. In the end, I never really understood anything. Every moment I lived I felt seconds from disaster like it would all just fold in on itself. All because of something Eren did. All because of him.

There was no way in hell Eren would want to talk to me ever again. Our feelings towards each other…they were mutual. They had always been mutual.

“Eren,” I paused to take a painful sip of champagne, “won’t talk to me again.”

Armin bit his lip, “Do you want him to?” I laughed, albeit sarcastically. There was pain in my voice. Pain, hurt and confusion. Everything swirled around in my head like a hurricane.

I had thought about what could happen if Eren talked to me. I think that, after everything, I was strong enough by that point to not faint in front of him. I would want to look stronger. Though, I did want to know more. I wanted to know the reasons behind everything he did. And if the only person that could tell me those things was Eren then so be it. I didn’t want to know.

I may have been stronger, but I still didn’t want to confront him. I had loved his time and his imperfections and his beautiful smile once upon a time. That was in the past.

After a while, Armin gave up on waiting for me to answer as I battled with my thoughts. He snapped, “Look, Jean, it might be so damn hard for you because you understand nothing. You believe things that are completely untrue and it is so hard for me not to tell you the truth right here and now. Despite these stupid misunderstandings, I’m not going to tell you anything until you get your act together and maybe just try to believe the truth.” I gulped, loudly.

Truth.

Eren wasn’t being true to me, and I sure as hell wasn’t being true to myself. Was anyone telling the truth? Honestly, it felt like everyone was on different pages of the same fucking book. I just wanted to rip it to shreds.

Mikasa quirked an eyebrow, but somehow her emotion was still incomprehensible, “We also want you to know that neither of us are on your side or Eren’s side.” There was a long pause of silence in her speech. We had moved from one topic to another, “He made a mistake, but you did too. Both of you are still making mistakes.”

Armin joined in, “Yes, we want to be friends with you both,” He paused, “Because-”

“We think you both need to get over what happened and come to terms with the truth.” Mikasa’s bold statement was like a slap in the face. That kind of slap that made you feel humiliated, beaten and immature. Get over it. It hit me with the realization that I really had taken it too far. Too far. _Too far._

Surely, no situation should put someone into as much pain as I was in. Mother always told me that I took things too seriously. As a kid, I could easily have gotten upset over simple curses like stupid or idiot.

Both of my parents had to be careful not to be overly strict or harsh because it would make me feel like complete shit and I’d most likely cry for hours. That whole incident with Allyson…Connie and Sasha leaving me…Eren…they all made me hang on a thread of my own fear and it had gone on for too long. I really did have to get over it.

“Thanks you guys, for talking to me,” I muttered, “It’s given me a lot to think about.”

Armin smiled and traced his finger along the intricate patterns on his lacy dress, “Take your time, Jean, we’re here for you if you need us.”

After that, we enjoyed the meal as good friends like we used to be. The meal, though not my own, was impressive. Maybe the sweet taste of the berry cider and the sauce over my Michelin food came from the enjoyment of having my old friends with me the whole time.

* * *

 

 

Armin and Mikasa took me home surprisingly early being 8:45, though the streets were dark and cold. I closed my eyes as I hopped out of the car, picturing dark and smoggy Victorian streets like Trost used to be, bricked roads and back-to-back terrace houses, dark air and a mysterious aura.

Sometimes I felt proud to live in Trost. The streets were modern and tantalizing, yet scourged with time and trouble. Each turn in the path had a history. From wars, to invasions. From celebrations to disasters. From revolutions to economical depressions. And even though I didn’t care about sports whatsoever, I knew that Trost Titans were a world-renowned rugby team.

The window of my apartment could be seen three floors above me. The curtains were open, just how I’d left them. The light was off too. It was a weird feeling, going back to my apartment alone. It would have been nice to share with someone like Marco.

He would have been a brilliant roommate. I imagined him being the kind of guy with a neat and tidy room. He’d set out the table at dinnertime and pour everyone’s drink. He practically raised Romeo and he was a loving son to his parents. Of course, these were all just suspicions, and Marco’s home life seemed to be a little dull.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing I did as I stepped foot in my freezing porch was run to the kitchen to get coffee. It had been an exhausting day, and I still had my Mother and Father to call.

Every word I spoke made me tired, but I knew I’d have to get used to that. After changing into an embarrassing pair of pajamas, those dumb Aliens ones with cartoonish prints of the Nostromo all over the pants, I settled on the sofa, black coffee in my left hand, my phone in my right.

The keypad felt like ice as I dialed my Mother’s number into it.

“Jean-boy?” Her voice was shaky; I couldn’t hold back tears any longer.

“Maman, tu me manques.” _Mum, I miss you._ I knew my voice was wobbling everywhere.

It felt sinful not to tell her about everything. I had promised both her and my Father that I would stay safe and call them if any trouble came around.

I hadn’t kept myself safe, of course I hadn’t. That was who I was. I was so fucking selfish. It was like I had treated my life like rubbish. Thrown it all away. The thing is, I couldn’t even control myself.

Of course I didn’t want to die!

But something inside me forced me to take those pills and that was what I was most afraid of: My demons.

“I miss you too, honey,” Mother sniffled a little. She had probably cried enough, “Are you okay?"

I paused and gulped with the guiltiest look on my face, “I’m fine.”

I never lied to my parents. It wasn’t in my nature to do so, and it definitely wasn’t necessary. Some parts of me were saying ‘but Jean, you are fine.’ And other parts were saying I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine, I know, but I could handle it.

“Oh, _fils_ ,” She whimpered. She barely ever called me _fils_ , or anything else French for that matter, only when she was emotional and did't have the _strength_ to speak English, “It’s so relieving to hear you’re okay. We called a couple of days ago but the boy who answered said you were asleep.” I froze for a moment. Marco. “We were glad though. Because you have been getting sleep and you have friends. I’m so proud of you, boy, proud that you’re growing up.”

Growing up?

Getting sleep?

Proud?

Sure, I was moving on, but my mindset was no different, frozen in an inability to mature. Yeah, I’d got plenty of sleep. Three days worth. Under sedation. How could she be proud of that? Why, because I hadn’t told her.

“How are you coping, Maman?” I wiped the tears in my eyes.

God, I really felt depressed. It felt like dry vomiting. I kept trying to let it all out but I couldn’t. My throat felt so dry. I had cried, but not properly. Gentle sobs weren’t going to get my feelings out. But I just couldn’t cry.

“I’m better now,” Mother’s soft smile could be heard, “I’m better because I’ve heard you’re okay. Your Father is working at the moment, but we’ll call again together.” I remained silent for a moment. “As for your Grandmother, her funeral will be next week. I’ll make sure to call you then, okay? I hope you didn’t get so upset about it.”

“I’ll be fine,” I blinked twice, de-watering my eyes, “You need some rest, Maman.”

And with that, we both said our mutual goodbye. I told her I loved her and that I’d make sure to get sleep. It felt lonely after the call ended.

I switched onto my music app and tapped on a Pixies album. (Fucking awesome). I opened my sketchbook, stroking at the soft cartridge paper with my fingers. Usually, it gave me inspiration on what to draw.

On that day, I already knew exactly what I was going to do.

Marco’s face shape was simple to draw, but whilst doing so I discovered the many angles and curves within his features that I hadn’t considered before drawing them. His cheekbones were smooth and slightly chubby, his jawline was prominent yet not sharp like mine. His nose was small and button-like.

The best part, though, was drawing his freckles.

After filling multiple pages with drawings of Marco Bodt I walked over to the kitchen to grab myself another cup of coffee. While the kettle boiled, the indescribable sound surrounding me, I tapped away at the music still playing from my phone.

It was halfway through Where Is My Mind? when the front door opened rather unexpectedly and a pair of feet ran in. And goddamn it, Romeo Bodt jumped so hard onto me that I fell straight to the floor in a shriek of pain. But, you know what? I didn’t shout at him. I smiled.

“You alright there, buddy?” I ruffled a hand through mini-Marco’s thin hair, “’S Marco going to come jump on top of me too or did you come here to personally attack me?”

I tried not to blush at the thought of Marco jumping me and instead thought of how I could get Romeo back for crushing my ribs whilst giggling and kicking me at the same time.

Unsurprisingly, his older brother did walk in a couple seconds after. He looked really tired, strange though considering it had only been a few hours since I’d last seen him.

He looked slightly pale, perhaps it was just the lighting, but there was a definite lifelessness in his soul. He had a cute little striped kiddies plaster over his eyebrow. As he turned to look at me, he let out a weak smile.

“S-Sorry, Jean,” He came over to me and lifted Romeo away, holding the now silent boy in his arms, whispering something to him, “I-I contemplated coming, Romeo insisted we did…um, sorry. I should have knocked.”

What had gotten in to him? I didn’t know and I don’t think he wanted me to know. But it worried me. To think he thought he was unwelcome at my house when I had personally given him keys…

“Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome at… _Casa di Kirschtien_.” Despite my humiliation, I was glad he laughed at my attempt at Italian and usage of ‘silly’.

His laugh really was music.

There was a small moment of silence apart from the final part of the song playing through. Marco, still holding his four-year-old brother, glared ever so slightly in the distance, deep in thought.

I remembered back to the Art lesson on that day when Marco had told me Where is my mind? was his favourite song. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it. Something was wrong, I could see it in his deep brown eyes.

When the song finished, Romeo let out a big yawn. “Aw, I could have sworn you weren’t tired,” He pouted at Romeo.

“Mmm, sorry Ma-ko,” Romeo mumbled his brother’s name within another yawn, “I can sleepover at Ymir’s house if you want to stay with Jean… _È possibile baciarlo_...” I thought for a moment. I hadn’t a clue what Romeo was babbling on about in his sweet Italian (that I honestly didn’t know he couldn’t speak), and I hadn’t a clue why Marco was even considering sending Romeo off elsewhere.

“Why don’t you just stay here for the night?” I stood up and patted Romeo’s head with a forced smile on my face.

His yawn curled into a devilish grin. He wriggled out of Marco’s arms in excitement. I thought he was coming to give me a hug or a high-five or something, but no, he came and punched me multiple times in the stomach. Though, I guess it wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t that strong.

“Yeah- Sleepover! Sleepover!” I knew then, by his cheering, that he was punching me in happiness.

After about ten or so little punches, he ran off into my bedroom, assumedly unpacking the little pink backpack he had strapped over his shoulders and changing into his ready-packed pajama’s.

Marco turned over to me and looked at me with an apologetic facial expression. I honestly couldn’t crack him. He was so fucking hard to read.

“Jean,” He began, his voice almost silent, “you don’t have to do this…” Do what? Spend time with my best friend?

If anything, I was doing it for _my own_ advantages. I had a lot to take my mind off, and Marco was like a drug. Like an escape.

He made me feel happier and comfortable in my own body. It sounds so selfish to say that. I did have things to ask him too, though. He knew it was coming. And I knew that he was upset about something other than the guilt of being invited around.

“Marco,” I interrupted him, “I’ve not a clue why you’re so worked up, but I wouldn’t invite you round if I didn’t want you to stay.” “

I just-” He paused in thought, “I didn’t want to be a…a…”

“A burden? That’s what you were thinking wasn’t it.” It was a rhetorical question, not even worth a question mark, “Don’t you dare even think that. Go in there and get your Jammies on and we will have the greatest fucking sleepover ever.” I smiled weakly, and he just bit his lip with as much effort as he could, not even able to force a smile.

It pained me to see him like this.

He clearly didn’t want me to ask him about it, and I knew that if I tried he would avoid the question like it was a game of dodge-ball in which I couldn’t throw for shit, and he was the best dodger ever.

My eyes itched still from the phone call with my Mother and my cheeks were still inflamed from crying. The thought of Marco dealing with problems made me want to cry even more.

Marco finally agreed to my invite though he didn’t have any pajamas. He ended up borrowing one of my tight t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. I forced myself not to look at him like he was something I was desperate to put my mouth all over. I felt guilt when thinking about Marco like that. But my rampaging hormones honestly couldn’t control themselves.

I made some warm milk for Romeo before he went to bed. When he’d finished drinking it, Marco and I took him to my room together.

Between yawns, the smaller freckled boy mumbled, “Lullaby…” Marco let out an elongated sigh,

“Okay…um,” I prepared myself to hear Marco sing sweet lullabies but Romeo just had to go ahead and press his small hand over Marco’s mouth.

“No. I want Jean to sing it.”

I guess you could say I was a man of many talents. I could draw, I could play piano, I could write. Singing…I hadn’t even tried it. I mean, sure I mumbled along to music, but I had never actually sang.

But Marco looked at me after Romeo’s suggestion. He looked for a moment, many thoughts crossing his mind. Then he did it. He pulled his mouth into a big grin, almost as devilish as Romeo’s. His eyes opened wide and his tongue poked ever so slightly between his teeth. “Come to think of it,” I gulped at his sudden change in attitude, “I kind of wanna hear you sing too.”

I knew it would be the most embarrassing moment of my life. But I told myself that I needed to stop fearing the judgment of others. Marco was one of the few people I felt comfortable around, and Romeo was just a kid.

If it would make Marco smile, I would do anything.

“W-What do you want me to sing?” Romeo smiled calmly and looked at Marco like they had some weird way of mentally communicating to each other.

“Sing whatever your childhood lullaby was. Romeo will sleep after any kind of music, so sing what you want and it’ll be fine.” As a child, my Mother never sang me lullabies, it was always my Father.

This meant that all of them were in German. However, this wasn’t much of a problem considering Marco took German classes. In fact, Marco didn’t even know I spoke fluent German.

The thought of impressing him made me more determined to sing. I took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling.

It was hard to get the words out, but they came, rolling off my tongue in my perfect German accent. “ _Guten Abend, gut' Nacht, Von Englein bewacht_ ,” My voice was slightly shaky, but the words were comprehensible.

Marco leaned forward with a face that pushed me to carry on. Romeo had a giant grin planted on his face, yet he still had tired eyes.

“ _Die zeigen im Traum, dir Christkindleins Baum_ ,” It was a little easier to sing at this point. Romeo had shut his eyes, even if he was still awake, perhaps the song made me feel at peace. The words were like that.

Though it was a foreign language to him, the song’s tone was enough to send you to dreams.

Marco looked slightly red at the cheeks. He hadn’t laughed or made me feel uncomfortable. He was there and he was watching and he was real.

“ _Schlaf nun selig und süß, Schau im Traum 's Paradies_.” As the song drew to an end, I let out a long breath. Honestly, I was proud of myself for it.

My singing sucked, I was sure of it, but they had at least appreciated how hard it was to bring my confidence up enough to sing in front of them. Marco looked happy that I was willing to…to push myself for him.

We said goodnight to Romeo. I patted his hair and left the room, leaving the two Brothers to say goodnight to each other. I had already found myself on the sofa before Marco walked in.

He shut my bedroom door behind him, quiet yet forceful. When he did, a serious look was plastered over his face

Hesitantly, he sat beside me and waited patiently for me to turn towards him. His eyes burned into mine.

“You’ve been crying.” Was all he said.

“I have.” Was all I replied. He fumbled his thumb around on his other hand. He had goosebumps over his arms. His tired eyes were as tired as tired eyes could look on someone with such a youthful appearance.

My breath stank of cider; I’d had a few too many glasses of it. The champagne too. He looked slightly disgusted as if he could smell it too.

The sofa we sat on was cold. Maybe it was just the atmosphere of the situation. Maybe it was in my head. My eyes still ached under the lids. They had been itchy and painful ever since the conversation with my Mother. My cheeks were still puffy and red.

“Why?” His voice was hoarse. “Grandmother, missing my parents.” I half-lied. I had been crying. I had cried because I missed my Mother and I had cried because of my Grandmother’s death. However, there was more to my tears than that.

The phone call was like an awakening. One tear sparks other’s I’d been holding in. I cried because I feared what I didn’t know.

“Jean.” He pushed me for more.

“I talked to Armin and Mikasa about Eren…and I’m confused.”

There was a small silence. He placed his hand over mine. Not like he was holding it, just comforting it. It felt like he was trying to talk to me through actions rather than words. Looking back at it I could have questioned him.

I could have asked him why he arrived with such sadness in his eyes and in his voice when just hours before he had been so happy. I could have, but I didn’t.

Despite his height and his muscles and his confidence, he was fragile. I saw it in the graceful yet lammicken way he walked. I saw it in the way he carried himself, assertive and anxious. He was so gentle and sweet, like something you would keep close to your heart and cry over because you love it so much.

It was because of this fragileness that I didn’t question anything. I was scared to break him and see him cry.

“Jean, you look scared.”

I laughed, but it was more of a pained hum, “I’m terrified.”

Marco bit his lip so hard it looked like it was about to burst. He was so difficult to read.

I wanted to tell him to stop. Stop caring about everyone whilst burying his own problems within himself. He didn’t disclose anything. I knew that was the whole reason he was troubled. I didn’t know how to get him to talk to me about himself.

“Eren…what happened…I don’t think I know the whole story,” I gulped, “I don’t even know it all…and it’s been haunting me all these years.”

He was probably very confused, but he didn’t show it. He kept his same benevolent face that made me blush crimson, and he kept his gentle hand on mine, this time squeezing lightly.

“What happened between you and Eren?”

I looked over towards the window. The corners had frosted and wind was howling against it. The moon barely came through the thick layers of clouds that night. It was dull and dark and depressive.

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about him yet.” And I’m not sure I ever will be.

“Hey, Jean,” Marco began. I nodded for him to carry on. His voice made me happier. “I’ll listen to you when you need to let it out. I’m here. I always will be here.”

I grit my teeth together and forced myself into the biggest, saddest, fakest smile I could. We both knew it wasn’t real, but we both knew I wished it was. I was trying and so was he.

“I know.”

The rest of the night was spent happily. We both settled down on the sofa, comforted, with my head resting on his soft shoulder.

I counted every freckle I possibly could while I listened attentively to him talk on and on about Romeo, about Italy, Surfing, the ocean… I learned that he knew a lot about the ocean and the sea.

He loved the way the waves moved in their own way, careless and forceful. Sometimes they were gentle, sometimes angry. In some ways, life was like the ocean.

The surface represented people, or Marco specifically. It seems simple…clear…but in reality, you just never know what lies beneath. It could hold nothing within its unstoppable body of water or it could hold so many things that even the highest technology couldn’t reach. Just like how Marco kept everything unknown.

He didn’t share what he was thinking. You’d have to discover it yourself.

The tide was life itself. It came towards the shore at different times. You can’t control the tide, it’s nature, and it’s there. And god, if you tried, it would ruin everything.

Sometimes waves came in gently, pooling around your feet as if they were comforting you, undulating as if to peaceful music. Sometimes they came crashing down on you, a thundering force that you cannot predict. Sometimes the tide never came in.

“You know,” Marco began, “People know more about space than they do about the ocean.”

I tilted my head sideways so he would carry on with his wonderful voice.

“Space is said to be infinite, and the ocean is finite,” He paused to look up into the air, “but I think the ocean is infinite too.”

I smiled, “because no one really understands it?”

He nodded, “And because…no matter how strong a person you are, you can’t erase it. You’d have to destroy the world.”

The moment was somewhat like a dream. His words seemed like an inspiration to me. The way he spoke was mesmerizing. Honestly, he was so intoxicating.

I knew my feelings for him were getting stronger at that point, but I decided to let them increase or decrease by themselves. It was all up to time and how much of it I spent by his side. That would determine it.

He was a treasured friend, and I wanted nothing more or nothing less than that. I was fine with how it was. I ignored the growing ache in my heart for the time being.

At that moment, his head fell softly onto my shoulder and the line from _Sense8_ played on my little TV, ‘I will burn this building down before I let anyone touch that beautiful brain’.

That was, and still is, my favourite line in the series because it reminded me of Marco.

Marco had a beautiful brain, his thoughts and his idea’s. I wouldn’t want it to change, and I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to touch or damage him. He was fragile and he was my best friend.

I watched the dark December sky fade away as I was sent into my dreams, comforted because I knew he was there beside me.

* * *

 

I woke up on the 4th December with a smile on my face.

A gentle purr played like a tune by my ear and the warmth of Marco Bodt’s breath against my cheek almost sent me back to sleep.

Unexpectedly, I heard to feet walking over to the sofa. “Jean,” Romeo whispered, “I have to go to school today…” He stood, dressed in his small school uniform, his hair messy but acceptable, yawing like a mad man.

I smiled and patted his head, “I can take you, buddy,” I then turned to Marco who lay deep in sleep, “But I gotta get this freckled lump to the bed.”

Romeo nodded and let me carry a (heavy) sleeping Marco to my bedroom. It wasn’t the first time I had done that, and the thought made me smile.

He remained asleep, even after being placed on the mattress, and still, even when I pulled the duvet over him.

Luckily, I had some porridge oats left over for Romeo. I decided to skip the food and wait for Marco, even though the warm smell of fresh porridge made my stomach growl. Romeo thanked me for breakfast and even helped me put the dishes into the dishwasher.

It made me wonder if he, despite being four, had to do housework at home. We walked over to the bus station and hopped on the one conveniently heading to West Trost.

“I go to Titanbridge…the primary school,” He stated as he sat down, of course picking the front two seats at the top of the double decker bus. It stank really badly.

“That’s a private school isn’t it?” He looked confused, “Um…one you have to pay to go to?”

He nodded, “’Briana and Jack are _richest_.

I chuckled to myself, “Richest?! That sounds fun. Who’re ‘Jack’ and ‘Briana’.”

He pouted, clearly un-amused by my sarcasm. For a four-year-old he was rather sassy. Though, he did eventually answer me.

“Jack is my stepdad. ‘Briana is actually called Abriana,” He rubbed his feet together and ruffled his plaited school skirt a little in thought, “She’s my Mother.”

Mother? I had heard that name before, Abriana, though I never really thought she was Marco and Romeo’s actual mother. That made me wonder for a second: Why do they call her by her first name?

“Romeo,” I began, “Why does Marco get lonely at home?” Romeo bit his lip, similar to Marco, and furrowed his eyebrows. He looked a little worried and maybe even stressed; definitely not anything a child should be experiencing.

“Marco isn’t aloud to have friends over,” His voice sounded fearful, “And I always get told to stay in my room…it’s pretty boring.”

I gulped for a moment. “Does Marco get told off a lot?” I waited for a response. Unfortunately, he nodded.

“Marco isn’t friends with ‘Briana. And he always fights with Jack.” The look on Romeo’s face was saddening. He was just a child, and to think he knew exactly what Marco and Jack could be arguing about, or seeing them argue…he must have been very scared.

They sounded pretty dysfunctional, and I questioned whether I should or shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t good to root about in other people’s business. But it was okay to be selfish occasionally, after all, I was asking to understand Marco’s feelings a little better.

The bus entered the Western part of Trost. Somehow, the air smelled nicer, but Romeo looked away from the window as though he was ashamed.

“Do they just argue, or is there…violence…and stuff?” I asked gently, with hesitance.

He shook his head, “No, no. Never like that, Jack isn’t so bad. They just argue, and Jack gets very shouty. ‘Briana does nothing and she just…watches.”

“Does it scare you?” He nodded, his innocent little eyes looked filled with thoughts that no child of his age should be thinking.

My childhood was superheroes, drawing and playing in the forest. My childhood was my loving parents, happiness and the sweet, obliviousness of everything bad.

I bet Romeo just wanted a normal family. To be able to have a Mother and a Father. To be able to have his friends over for dinner and a sleepover. I bet he thought about that all the time, or maybe he never thought about it at all because he didn’t even know that was the norm. It was sickening to think he was being confined from a normal life.

“It scares me a lot and I sometimes can’t sleep because it’s very loud.” He paused and pointed out the window, “That’s my house there.”

It was very big. Big and white, one of those modern ones with complicated designs. It was most definitely expensive. Though I only saw it for a short second I realized his ‘parents’ really were richest. “I wish I lived with Papà in Italy…”

He looked back towards me with droopy eyes. He and Marco both had droopy eyes, but Romeo’s were droopy from sadness at that moment. I didn’t ask about his real Father because I already knew, from his longing voice and facial expression, that they loved their real Father but, for some reason, weren’t aloud to live with him.

“You know,” I began, smiling and patting his head for comfort, “You can always stay at my house.”

I didn’t expect much of a reaction, but he let out a massive gasp and smiled, his eyes becoming less droopy. His cheeks seemed to glow. Basically, he just looked like a happy child, even if only for a moment.

“Marco too?!” I nodded, “AH! Thank you, _Fra_ ’!”

“ _Fra_ ’?” I questioned. “It means ‘bro’, it’s short for _Fratello_. Marco said it means Brother,” He gave a proud, cheesy grin, “And you’re Marco’s bestest big friend so you are my Brother too!” I laughed and smiled at him.

I guess that was it:

The moment I decided that I would look after Romeo (and Marco) even more, acting as another Brother. I’d let my house be their escape from the drama at home.

I’d let Romeo live a happy childhood, even if it meant volunteering as his punchbag, because I’d much rather let myself be the one getting kicked in the face and have to wear a dumb plaster on my forehead than Marco.

I’d let my feelings for Marco go their own way, because I knew it meant that I’d spend a lot more time with the tall, freckled beauty. I would have to look after them both.

It was another challenge on the road. This time, the challenge wasn’t for my own selfishness, it was purely out of how much I cared about Marco, and even Romeo. Life is measured in what you achieve.

The Titanbridge was never a bridge I had crossed before. It really was massive…enormous even. The river below went all the way to the sea at the side of Devon. It was a very big river, a deep one too, and so the bridge had to be big. Nevertheless, I hadn’t expected it to be as big as it was. Romeo mocked me for gripping the sides of my seat, terrified, as we drove across.

To make it worse, we were on the top of the bus, which was scary enough. He continued laughing at me til we reached the other side. His school was beside the cliff. It was small, but the campus was vast as it contained a High School and a College too. It was a very good school. Pretty sure that everyone who graduated Titanbridge College went to Yalkell University…or Oxford…they were all smart.

It seemed strange to me that Romeo’s ‘parents’ were willing to pay for him to go to such an excellent school.

I wondered if Marco went to Titanbridge College when he moved to England. Marco had only lived in England for 4 years as they moved over while Abriana was pregnant with Romeo. That meant he would have gone to college for three years. After all, Marco was only a first year in Uni, a year younger than me. I was a second year, but my course was a year longer so we would still graduate at the same time. I wondered whether Romeo was like his brother; creative and artsy, dramatic and musical.

Perhaps he was more sciency, perhaps he preferred humanities. I didn’t know, and I didn’t ask. Romeo didn’t look exited as he thanked me and hopped out of the bus, heading over to school.

In a way I could relate, I never enjoyed primary school until Sasha and Connie arrived. Though, Romeo had friends because Marco had mentioned he had been at a friends house once before. Or maybe that was a cover-up for him being at Bertholdt’s or Historia’s.

The rest of the journey home was peaceful. The bus was empty and desolate, surprising considering it was Trost at rush hour. I returned home quickly as no stops were made.

The apartment light was off still, however it was light outside by that point so there would have been no need to turn it on. The air was freezing and I regretted not bringing a coat.

Though I was warmed in an instant as the door to my apartment opened, Marco’s arms pulling me into a tight hug. I could have sworn he whispered thank you’s into my ear. I didn’t know what I had done that deserved any gratitude, but I accepted Marco’s sweet voice. I pulled him back inside. He looked a lot happier than the previous day. Actually, I’ll correct myself, he looked more awake.

One of the side-effects of a dysfunctional family life is exhaustion. Lack of sleep can be something caused by fear. The last thing I hoped for was for Marco to have insomnia. Seeing him bright and lively was a blessing.

“Did Romeo wear his skirt to school?” Marco asked.

We were sat at the kitchen table. I had made breakfast muffins for the both of us. Blueberry banana ones. Marco looked like he savoured every bite.

“Y-Yeah he did.” I replied stuttering, was that a bad thing?

“Good.” He sighed with relief, “He hates boys clothes. It’s more like…discomfort than hatred, though. I encourage him to wear whatever he wants, though my…parents disapprove. I guess it makes me happy when he wears what he wants, you know? Happy that he is comfortable.”

I nodded, “I’m sure anyone would rather have a happy son in a dress than a depressed son in a pair of jeans.” He huffed, obviously thinking of his ‘parents’ and the fact they would disagree with that statement. Though he agreed with it. Honestly, the world would be a better place if everyone disagreed with gender roles.

I pulled out a small, pocket sketchbook and drew Marco as he sipped his tea and gazed into the distance. He didn’t notice as I drew it. He still didn’t notice when I wrote, ‘Oh god, he’s a tea person!’ at the side of it. I closed the book, chuckling as I brought my cup of coffee to my lips, warming them in an instant.

When we finished, he helped me put all the dishes in the dishwasher along with Romeo’s.

I tried not to imagine he was my boyfriend and we shared the apartment together. I tried, _I failed_.

We decided it was time to head for school not long later.

I laughed at his terrible attempt at fastening the toggles on his fancy beige coat. He laughed when I tripped over the doormat. We both laughed at out mutual shiver when we stepped outside the door, emerging ourselves in the cold December air.

The warmth I needed was given to me eventually. The warmth of his presence. Somehow, the way he walked beside me, the way he smiled like the sun, the way he laughed like a melody…he made me feel like I was in the midst of Summer.

With Marco, it was okay to be selfish. It was okay to cry. It was okay to smile. He had made a promise to be a true friend, and he was the kind of guy you just knew would keep his promises. He was there. He was there for me.

And even if it meant oblivion, in heaven or on hell I would do anything my worthless body could do to be there for him too. 


	9. Lose Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You better lose yourself in the music, the moment  
> You own it, you better never let it go  
> You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow  
> This opportunity comes once in a lifetime
> 
>  
> 
> -Eminem, Lose Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where everything is going to pick up guys. I'm going to be explaining a lot these next few chapters. I promise that there is nothing wrong if you get confused at the last part of this one. It'll be explained in time.
> 
> Also, sorry for the wait, I got piled up in life.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)

_On the tip of my tongue landed a delicate droplet of pure white snow. I watched Eren contently, the way he smiled at the flakes falling from the sky, spinning around with all his strength just to feel his surroundings. The entire pathway to the hotel was completely covered in snow, heaped up foot atop foot. We were gifted a delicious gush of warmth as soon as we entered the hotel doors._

_I stood, awkwardly, by the entrance as Eren went to check-in. It was nice to be with Eren. Christmas had passed, and we wanted to spend some of the holiday alone together. Eren and I couldn’t afford anything spectacular, so we found ourselves in a small hotel in the North of Trost. It was a nice trip to take before we finished our final few terms in High school._

_Finally, Eren walked back over to me and excitedly handed me the key. We ran with our excessively large backpacks like children towards the hotel room. Eren had a strange need to unpack our bags and fill every shelf and cupboard he could, almost like he was trying to make it feel like home._

_There was only one bed in the room, thankfully a double one. Eren was a wriggler._

_“So,” He began, throwing of his jacket and boots, plopping himself flat on the bed, “Waddya wanna watch?”_

_“Hmmm,” I thought, “Home Alone?”_

_He snorted loudly, “I don’t want to succumb to crap.”_

_Gasping, I replied, “Crap?! It’s a classic! Come on, Eren, get in with the Christmas spirit!”_

_Eventually, I persuaded Eren to watch Home Alone with me. I’d luckily remembered to pack it in my bag. The Television in the room was a decent side, and perfectly in view from the bed. Eren and I got comfy under the duvet, cans of beer around us – ready to be opened._

_The beers were drunk one by one, films watched one after the other. Time passed quickly but not wastefully; we had loads of fun. From tickle fights to drunk blabbering, everything in that hotel room on the 31 st of December was stored in a place of my mind where only the best memories were allowed. _

_At some point in time where the sky showed no indication as to whether it was night or morning, all the alcohol had been consumed. Some fireworks set off in the distance, lightly popping to my satisfaction. Eren and I hobbled over to the big windows at the side of the room. We were very high up, the entire of Trost could be seen. At the highest point in the universe, the world underneath us, our heads held high._

_In the beauty of youth, Eren grinned properly for the first time that winter. And despite his usual melancholy attitude towards December, he really seemed happy. I only wished it was because of me._

_Unable to resist temptation, I pulled Eren into my arms. He didn’t resist me either. Somehow, It felt like he knew exactly what I was doing, because as I moved my hands down to his waist, his eyes fluttered shut. Underneath the moonlight and the fireworks, I kissed Eren Jaeger and he kissed me back. The taste of his lips against mine was wonderful, the feeling of them pressed against mine felt so natural and so…perfect._

_Eren yawned as I pulled away, smiling gently afterwards. He buried his head in my chest and let me carry him to the bed. It didn’t take long at all for the both of us to fall asleep._

_The next morning, I awoke to the noise of Eren singing terribly in the shower. Laughing, I pulled on some jeans and a jumper. I smiled waiting for him. I pictured his face as he came out of the bathroom, jumping and blushing, running into my arms and telling me he wanted to kiss me again._

_The small volcano in the pit of my stomach finally exploded and I knew - so well that it was sewn to my skin - that I had fallen for Eren._

_The water finally turned off, and I gulped nervously. There was some distant shuffling from behind the door for only a short moment before a wet-haired, clothed Eren emerged from the bathroom._

_Everything I had imagined was torn to shreds._

_“Hey,” He smiled casually, and walked over to the dresser to start combing at his hair._

_“H-Hi.” I replied._

_“Wanna go down for breakfast in 10? The hotel restaurant is doing full English, haven’t had one in a while.”_

_My heart sunk and I remembered something haunting about the night before. He was drunk. He didn’t remember._

_With a final ‘okay’, we just packed up our bags and left the hotel room. To him, nothing ever happened. To him, even one shred of memory would have just been thought as a weird dream. To him, I was still just his best friend._

_It made me feel sick to the marrow of my bones._

* * *

 

Just as the final day’s batch of cookies were taken out of the oven, Ymir popped her head round through the entrance to the kitchen announcing that:

  1.      We were closing up in 5 minutes and
  2.      That “Jean Kirschtein, you’d better get that fucking mop of a hair-do sorted out cause we’re going somewhere after we close!”



 

I heard Annie laugh monotonously from the counter as she spun the keys around her forefinger. It was only the three of us left in Kaffihús that day. Even Hanji had gone home, to spend some time with their girlfriend I assumed. I gently placed (threw) the batch of cookies in the fridge and slammed the kitchen door shut. Ymir was engaged in telling Annie some story about this one time when Bertholdt swallowed a whole banana and Ymir made the best gay joke of all time, which Annie clearly wasn’t amused or interested by.

 

Coughing impatiently, I tapped against the counter and both girls turned towards me.

 

“All done?” Annie asked.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Took your damn time.” Annie snapped, earning muffled laughter from Ymir.

 

“Hey, food doesn’t cook itself.” I replied, keeping the best straight face I possibly could. Ymir pushed me out the café entrance, Annie following shortly behind. She huffed and walked off towards her car. Pouting, Ymir turned back to me.

 

“Picasso, we’re going on a trip.”

 

“ _Picasso?_ Isn’t it a bit late for pet-names?”

 

“It’s _never_ too late for pet-names, Jean. You are officially Picasso under my government, and if you become a defector, I’ll tell everyone that Marco calls you Princess.”

 

Without arguing, I followed Ymir to her stupid blue two-seater car that looked dangerously old. It smelled suspiciously of cheap strawberry lube, which I most definitely did _not_ question. She sat at the wheel and tied her hair back as if we were about to hike up a mountain.

 

After switching on the radio, we started driving. Thankfully Ymir’s taste was pretty similar to mine, so no arguments were made about the music. She couldn’t sing whatsoever, but it was fun to watch.

 

We started in direction to Sina Block, though we passed it in a flash without acknowledgment. Ymir drove to the end of Sina Street, down past the Trost Arts U, and on to a country road. She drove faster and faster, tires screeching and the both of us jolting about in our seats.

 

Eventually we reached a forest, and Ymir decided to just drive straight into it. The tree’s surrounded us were tall and dark, hovering over the so-called road, so low that the branches nearly touched the roof of the car. I hadn’t known there was a road through the forest. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be accessed. Perhaps it was just Ymir and her weird ways.

 

“Where the hell are we going?!” I yelled at her. She laughed and turned up the radio to ignore me, “YMIR!” I cried again. She snickered under her breath, but broke out into full-on wild, sadistic laughter. Somehow, her Scottish accent could still be heard as she cackled.

 

“DON”T WORRY PICASSO IT’S JUST A QUICKER ROUTE TO THE LAKE!”

  
_Lake?_ I thought. There was only one lake near Trost, just on the outskirts, about a mile from the Uni…

 

“Ymir…” I muttered in a much more serious tone. I had to stop her from driving towards the lake because…Eren he, we, I…

 

“What?” She looked nervous now. My stomach went from travel-sick to wobbly from nerves. My breaths found it slightly difficult to escape my throat.

 

“Don’t take me to the lake…please…”

 

“Well, we’re going to the hill _by_ the lake…but what’s wrong with the lake?”

 

I paused, wondering if it was the right choice to say why, but my lips parted in the decision that I could trust Ymir, “Well, It was the place that Eren and I used to go to…like a hangout.”

 

She didn’t look at me, her facial expression didn’t even change, and she just carried on singing to the music. I wondered if she hadn’t heard me. I wondered if she was ignoring me. We reached the other side of the forest (it was very small), and found ourselves at the said hill.

 

Ymir dragged me out of the car and towards the base of the hill, smiling before starting to climb. It was bigger than a usual hill, hence why I never bothered going to the top before. But the climb wasn’t so bad. Just a five minute walk. Honestly, I did get out of breath by the end of it, but when we reached the top, the sight was amazing.

 

To the North I could see the cinema district; I could see my old flat, my new apartment, the lake and…Marco’s house. It was beautiful; especially considering the December sun was just setting. Although the air felt cold, my body felt warm.

 

The ground was grassy, but cut short, and luckily it was dry for the most part. Around the outer parts of the hill were stripped bare of the usual wildflowers due to them all dying from the cold. The lake hadn’t yet frozen over, but looked dark and demonic from atop the hill. I could see the small rocks are by the shore where Eren and I used to sit and talk.

 

“Can I ask,” She looked towards me as she sat comfortably on a dry spot of ground, “does whatever happened with Eren still upset you?”

 

Nodding, I replied, “Of course it does, mostly because there is more to the story than I’m actually aware of, and I also have someone I want to focus all my care on and not have to worry about myself anymore.”

 

“Is it Marco?”

 

I froze in my place. I wasn’t exactly hiding the fact that I’d become very close to Marco, and I wasn’t hiding the fact that I wanted to protect him. But it seemed odd that Ymir might have noticed my care for him. It’s not like I had made any effort by that point – other than letting him stay at my apartment with Romeo.

 

But I wanted to do more for him than that. I wanted to cook meals for him every day. Make him school lunches. Help Romeo with his homework, study with Marco. I wanted to take them shopping. No, I wanted to do everything under the sun – everything in the entire universe – to keep them away from their ‘parents’. They needed to be distracted from their home life.

 

In fact, they didn’t just need to be distracted, what they needed was for it to end. And although I had no clue what actually went on behind doors, I knew they weren’t treated lovingly like they should have been. That was what I wanted: to treat them the way they deserved.

 

This strong feeling I had that told me to look after them must have shown as clear as day in the way I looked at Marco. It brought to my attention that maybe I’d cared for Marco longer than expected. What if everyone had noticed?

 

“Yeah. It’s unbearable seeing him ignore his feelings for the sake of other’s.”

 

Ymir sighed, “You’ve noticed then. We all have. There’s something going on with him and Marco clearly wants to hide it,” she let out a huge breath of air, a cloud of winter breath emerging from her mouth, “You look so stressed too. ‘S why I brought you here. I come when I have stuff to think about, and I wanted company.”

 

“What happened to you?”

 

She looked very reluctant to tell me, but eventually she did, “I had an argument with Historia.”

 

“O-Oh.”

 

Usually, Ymir and Historia seemed like a perfect couple. One would make up for what the other lacked. Ymir would do absolutely anything she possibly could to protect Historia, die for her in simpler terms. Historia, she completely adored her girlfriend, thought she was the most amazing person on earth. It was so hard to imagine that they could possibly argue enough that Ymir needed time to actually assess the problem.

 

“She got mad that I didn’t want to go home for Christmas. My parents kicked me out when I started dating her – I’m not going to forgive them for that. Not in heaven and not in hell. And Goddamnit, you don’t know how _horrid_ it is to be rejected by the two people you were _raised_ by, simply because you _love someone_.”

 

“I can’t say I’ve experienced it, but I can empathize, Ymir. Parents that reject their children based on sexuality are… _heinous_. Disgusting. I wouldn’t forgive them.”

 

She laughed, but painfully, “I got a call from them yesterday. They said they’d thought about it, and wanted me to bring Historia over for Christmas. I said no. I don’t want to _look_ at them. Seeing their face makes me feel so _bitter_ and _livid_ …I can’t go back home.”

 

“You’re rejecting them because they rejected you?” I suggested.

 

“An eye for an eye, Jean. I have Historia and that’s all that matters. I have friends and I have education and I have someone I love. She’s furious with me…she called me a hypocrite…that ‘they are my parents and deserve forgiveness’. But Jean, I really _can’t_ go home.”

 

“You’re scared, aren’t you?”

 

With a shaken breath she replied, “Yeah. I guess I am.”

 

I smiled, gently, the best I could. No matter what, I told myself the only way to fix my own life was to fix other’s. Ymir was…an amazing friend. As much as it felt humiliating to admit it, she was a good person. The most I could do was try to understand her in a way she never really had been understood. Considering Historia was with her, the one person meant to understand her the most, it must have hurt Ymir a lot to be punished for not going home.

 

Willingly, Ymir had given up everything for Historia. She had given up her parents, her trust in her own _family_ , for the girl she loved. That was the scary part of the story. A lot of things in life are terrifying, but we live with those things. We live with fear and pain because they are just two emotions building up the foundations of reality. And with these hardships, though they may be scary and harmful, they teach us to move on. The only way you can overcome a fear is to live through it and know that it will eventually die.

 

And so I placed my hand on Ymir’s back to show her that I would be there until Historia returned. Smiling with all the effort I could muster, I told her, “It’s okay to be scared. We _all_ are.”

 

* * *

 

 

The following day I had too many free periods to function properly. Having classes kept me somewhat awake; more like with _reasoning_ to stay awake. It was the 8 th – a Monday – and the only lesson I had was Art at 4pm. It was annoying really because Monday had been my day off, but the school decided to rearrange my timetable due to club activities. Ymir managed to drag me out of my apartment at 9am, telling me that I had to do something and that I could watch her drama class until it came time for Art.

 

To tell the truth, I actually really wanted to go to her drama class…mostly because Marco would be there. ( _Only_ because Marco would be there).

 

To my surprise, the drama room wasn’t where I’d expected; it was at the complete opposite side of the music department (a little off-campus) though it made for a bigger studio. The building was big, two-story for the lighting control I suppose, but all the acting happened on the first floor. The majority of the room was seats other than the stage, for shows of course, and apparently they held music concerts there too. The entire inside was black, other than the seats. Ymir explained that it helped the lights show the people on stage easier. But the room was lit up because it’s not the _safest_ to work in the dark.

 

I sat on the third row from the front, waiting for the lesson to start. Marco walked on stage, oblivious of my presence, and was followed by Bertholdt, Ymir, and two other men.

 

The teacher stood at the other side of the stage, tucking her black hair behind her hears before frowning at the students before her.

 

“Where is Eren?”

 

Marco then stepped forward a little, clearing his throat, “Eren has an appointment and apologizes that he can’t come.”

 

The black haired, plump teacher pulled an almost sympathetic face, “Again?! Down with the flu or just a dental check up?” she joked.

 

Humming as he mentally phrased the words he wanted to say, Marco pouted a little, “Uh, not really, he’s with a psychiatrist,” He and I gulped in synchronization, “’Still hasn’t told me why. It worries me.”

 

The teacher sighed, looking worried, but not as worried as Marco, “Oh dear, well tell him I hope everything is okay. His mental health is important, after all.”

 

Ymir then waved her hand to make the situation a little less stressful, “Come on, now, let’s get on with today. What’s planned, ma’am?”

 

The teacher smiled, “Not much until the English class finish with their scripts…today we’ll do some Shakespeare practice, okay?”

 

Ymir moaned and Marco smiled, “Let me guess, Romeo and Juliet.”

 

“Sorry…”

 

Everyone laughed a little.

 

Some sheets were handed out and Marco took his excitedly, it was the balcony scene. _How cliché_ , I thought.

 

“Thomas and Franz can work together, Bertl and Marco…Ymir I’m afraid you’ll be working with me…” Said the teacher. She just shrugged as if to say, ‘No problem.’

 

“Um,” Bertholdt muttered, “Who’ll be Romeo?”

 

“I will, if that’s okay with you?” Marco replied.

 

“That’s fine. I’d rather be Juliet.”

 

They took the front of the stage, and I could hear them better there. Marco jumped off the stage and onto the floor just beside it. Bertholdt remained on the stage, almost like it was a make-shift balcony.

 

“ _He jests at scars that never felt a wound.”_ Marco says, and instantly there is a change in his personality. He has become Romeo, the hopeless romantic. I mean, the clue is in the name! Shakespeare named him ‘Romeo’ for a reason…

 

I tried not to squeal in excitement. And as much as A Midsummer Night’s Dream was my favourite play, Romeo and Juliet was practically sewn to my heart – and considering Marco was acting it out, I couldn’t stay calm.

 

Bertholdt stepped forward a bit, as if staring over the balcony.

 

Marco gasped a bit, and pretended to hide, somehow still facing the audience. His back against an imaginary wall, and eyes gazing up at Bertholdt, he said, “ _But soft! What light yonder window breaks?_ ” He paused, “ _It is the east, and Juliet is the sun_.”

 

They were interrupted by a huge wail coming from the mouth of the one and only Ymir.

 

“I hate this! What even is a metaphor? I don’t get it! _Juliet is the sun_ my arse. What, she’s some floating ball of gas? Personally, I don’t think that’s a compliment!”

 

Thomas giggled from the other side of the stage, it was a manly giggle and quite hilarious, “Well the sun is a star, so he could be calling her that…I guess?”

 

“No!” I shouted involuntarily, “Well, um, I mean yes, but there’s more to it than that!”

 

Twelve eyes all turned and looked at me at the same time.

 

“Jean?!” Bertholdt, Ymir and Marco all called in surprise.

 

“I, well, uh, sorry…” Was all I could muster.

“No,” the teacher said to me, “Carry on, tell them. I think they could do with some explaining from an English student.”

 

I didn’t reply just yet. One: How did she know I was an English student? (Well, probably because she’d walked into my scripting class a couple of times, but I didn’t realize). Two: How was I supposed to go up on stage with the bloody _drama class_ and lecture them on Shakespeare?!

 

Marco knew that wasn’t in my nature. So did I. So did Ymir. So did a lot of people.

 

But then I thought, _they are drama students…they are the last people to judge someone in talking in front of people._

Marco had once told me that he was confident to act because of this. They all did drama either to gain confidence, or do prove it. Within the process of acting, you have to be patient with other actors, and critique them but also support them. Surely, that meant they’d be fine with me talking even if it was badly done.

 

Anyway, the only people I didn’t know were Thomas and Franz, and they seemed relatively friendly.

 

I stood up from my seat and walked on over to the stage.

 

“Well,” I muttered, “For a start, everything in our galaxy revolves around the sun…”

 

“So you’re saying that the world revolves around Juliet?” Marco asks, smiling. He already knows the answer, but he is trying to encourage me.

 

“Well, Romeo thinks so, yes.” I explained, “Also, without the sun, we’d die too.”

 

They smiled.

  
“So essentially, Romeo would die without her,” No one answered me, and it was a bit nerve-wracking. I was proud though, because I’d talked, “And back in High School I used to think he was just calling her hot.”

 

There was a silence, and then Ymir just said, “Well, that’s deep.”

 

And everyone laughed. The laughter surrounded me and it felt so good, though there was only one person I listened to. Marco. His laugh was wonderful, and it had grown on me and made me feel so unwillingly happy yet I couldn’t explain why it made me feel that way. But, good god, I loved his laugh.

 

I sat on the front row after talking to them, and let them carry on for the next hour. Occasionally, Ymir or Thomas would ask me for help. Marco never did, but that’s because he was smart enough to understand it already.

 

“99% of words in all of Shakespeare’s plays are words we use today,” I’d heard him tell Bertholdt, “They seem jumbled up and nonsensical, but you just have to reorder them, you know?” He said, “Come on, Ymir, my native language is Italian. If I can learn Shakespeare, you can!”

 

The hour flew by in a blur and I felt dazed by the end of it. I watched as Thomas and Franz scuttered outside with Bertholdt and a pestering Ymir behind them. I watched the Drama teacher, Mrs. Lane was her name, walk left towards her office and the practice rooms.

 

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat and listened to the hum of footsteps tapping towards me. Marco sat to my right and I turned to see him. The light lit up his face as he looked forward, towards the stage in thought.

 

“I keep thinking…about the future,” Marco began, “And it’s really scary.”

 

“How so?”

 

He chuckled a little, nervous, “I don’t know. I just want to be…happy. That’s my dream future.”

 

“Can you not achieve that?”

 

“I can. Of course I can.” He paused, “But ‘I can’ isn’t ‘I will’. My parents hate everything I do. I can’t find happiness when they’re chaining me down with their…stupid views.”

 

I chose not to reply. Understanding Marco was something I couldn’t quite do yet, it was a work in progress. But somehow I had learned how to react to him. Some things were better off unanswered to him.

 

How saddening a thought that Marco only wanted happiness? The world was a place of avaricious people, wishing for money, riches, sex, drugs…and then Marco just wanted to be happy!

 

I pulled my hands under my sleeves because they were a little cold. Even the air made a little cloud when I breathed. It was definitely December. I sighed again and rested my head against Marco’s shoulder.

 

 _Wait_.

 

I froze, and so did Marco, but his stiff body softened after a few seconds and he rested his head against mine. I felt really at home.

 

His hair brushed at my forehead a bit, and it tickled though it still felt nice. His breath was heavy and shaky, and warm too. The air around us didn’t feel like December air anymore.

 

Marco stroked his hand up and down my spine soothingly and I traced infinity signs on his thigh. Eventually, his breath steadied, as if he’d found comfort, and his tense shoulders softened. After ten minutes, he shivered and patted my upper back.

  
“Come on,” He said reluctantly, “I have a student council meeting and you need lunch.”

 

Pouting, I replied, “Aw, I could have seriously fallen asleep…”

 

He chuckled and stood up finally.

 

We walked down past the seats in the theatre room, and headed out the back passage. I realized Marco would be turning left and I’d be going right. I had an urge to just…well, I can’t even put it in words. I just didn’t want him to go.

 

“I’ll see you at work later then?” I asked to distract myself.

 

He nodded, “Yep, I guess so.”

 

“Uh, see you then, Marco”

 

“Bye, Jean.”

 

I turned away and rubbed my hands together in the cold as I walked.

 

A hand grabbed my shoulder, pulled me round, and I found myself in Marco’s arms. I should have been surprised…I should have felt uncomfortable and pushed him away…

 

It just, well, it felt so _good_.

 

“It’s winter, you know.” Marco said.

 

“…So?”

 

He sighed, “You’ll get really cold if you don’t get a coat.”

 

“Ok.” I replied, “I’ll buy a coat.”

 

I patted him to hint that I needed lunch, and he ought to go to his meeting. Though, the real reason was because I was weirdly flustered and needed to go before I imploded.

 

“ _Jean,_ ” He pushed in a stressed tone, “I meant to say, I mean, what I mean to say is that I-”

 

I paused and he moved to look at me in the eye. He went a little red, and so moved back into the original position, his mouth just at my ear.

 

“I’m proud of you,” He muttered, “Before…you were…really brave.”

 

I was disappointed for a moment, I’d expected something different but I couldn’t tell what I’d expected. It didn’t matter though. His words processed in my mind and I couldn’t help but smile and grip on to him a bit tighter.

 

My lips parted, “Thank you. For _everything_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Jeez, what the fuck took you so long.” Reiner hissed as I sat at the table with him.

 

“I just talked to Marco, jesus.”

 

Ymir giggled beside him, “He’s having one of his ‘grumpy lunches’, Picasso.”

 

I tilted my head as I opened my salad, “Why’s that?”

 

“Well,” He began, “This is one of the unfortunate lunchtimes where I’m _not_ screwing Bertl in the caretaker’s cupboard and _you_ just had to go and make it worse.”

 

I spat out my salad, choking on a leaf in surprise.

 

Ymir laughed, uncomfortably loud, “Fucking hell, Jean, he was joking!”

 

I let out a big breath and grinned, “Rightly so!”

 

“Anyway,” Reiner began, “I’m going on a date with Bertholdt tonight!”

 

“Really? Making progress then.” I stated.

 

He laughed, “Hardly. He was reluctant to agree to my invite. Trost isn’t even a dangerous place for gay people.”

 

“Reiner,” I said as gently as possible, “Show him an amazing time. Let him know that nothing bad will happen if you go on a date. Couples always disagree on things, but if you really love each other, it’ll be fine in the end. Things with work around you, you know? He’ll come to understand. I know he will.”

 

Ymir smiled, knowing I was partially talking to her too. I didn’t expect water-works, and I didn’t receive them, but I could tell that my message got to them. They had been given just the motivation they needed.

 

“Wow, Jean,” Reiner laughed with an exasperated voice, “Look at you, Mr. Relationship-Expert.”

 

I smiled, forcefully, “Well, I’ve had my experience.”

 

Ymir picked up all out leftover wrappers and food and whatnot, throwing them in the bin beside the table. It was a little cluttered on the table, thanks to Reiner’s massive one-man buffet.

 

Reiner smiled, “Thanks though, Jean.”

 

“No problem. I just…said words, and, yeah.”

 

My phone then proceeded to buzz, and startled us all a bit. I assumed it was Marco for a minute, but pulled it out and read the name of the caller.

 

“Hey, Mum,” I smiled after pressing the answer button.

 

Unsurprisingly, she replied, “ _Oh mon Dieu!_ How many times, Jean? I hate being called ‘Mum’!”

 

“Sorry, Mother.”

 

She sighed. Reiner and Ymir giggled, clearly having heard my Mother.

 

“Anyway, I was just calling to say something important.”

 

“What is it?” I asked.

 

“We’re so sorry, Jean, but we won’t be able to come for Christmas.”

 

I didn’t know what to reply. I knew, though, that my parents were struggling with money – but still, I couldn’t imagine a Christmas without them. I heard her questioning me through the phone, but the words were like white noise.

 

Ymir leant forward, snatching the phone right out of my hand, “ _Bonjour, ma belle fille!_ ” She shouted through the phone.

 

“Ymir!” I hissed, “Do you even know what that means?!”

 

She shrugged, “Not really. But anyhow, hey Mrs. Jean’s Mother. I’d just like to add that although Jean is probably _most_ devastated, he is in good hands.”

 

“You’ll be celebrating Christmas with him…sorry I didn’t know your na-”

 

“Ymir. It’s Ymir. And nah, I’m celebrating it with my girlfriend, not Picass- um, I mean Jean. But I can assure you that he’ll be spending it with the one and only _Marcoooooo!_ ” Her voice pissed me off.

 

“Ymir please-”

 

Reiner then took the phone from Ymir, “ _Hallo_ \- ah shit, that’s German, wait, I mean, Hi ma’am. I’m Jeans assigned _Dad_ while his real Father is in France. I’ll be making sure that Jean doesn’t celebrate _le Chrimbo_ alone.” He paused, “Actually, my Boyfriend is having his birthday party on the 30 th so Jean’s gonna have to get social for once. Anywho, he definitely won’t be alone this Christmas.”

 

Nicole laughed loudly, “Goodness, Jean, you have some… _fun_ friends!”

 

Ymir snorted, “Fun is our middle name!”

 

“There isn’t even an ‘F’ in your name, Ymir _Synnøve_ Braus.” Reiner shouted at her, jokingly.

 

Finally getting my phone back, I said, “I’ll be fine, _Maman_ , you enjoy Christmas with Father.”

 

“I will, dear. Goodbye!”

 

“ _Au revoir_.”

 

After hanging up, I pulled a death glare to Reiner, however he just laughed. He wasn’t taking my fury seriously, though he never did.

 

He stood up. “Well, I’m off then,” He said before walking away, but returning back in an instant, “And FYI, I wasn’t joking about the caretakers cupboard thing.”

 

He winked, and left for good.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Jean, if you don’t help us fully decorate the café I will fire you.” Hanji threatened, their eyebrows in a clearly forced ‘serious’ expression.

 

“Look, Han, I never said I wouldn’t! Chill dude.” I coughed, “Sorry, not ‘dude’, I meant ‘bro’. Wait shit-”

 

Hanji laughed, “It’s fine, Jean, I literally call everyone dude no matter who they are.” They decided it was time to head back to the office, “Thanks for agreeing to help, Jean. But get back to work. We're busy today.”

 

Jean sighed, “Hanji, the literal only people here are staff and my friends…”

 

Hanji smiled, “And _henceforth_ , it is busy.”

 

I decided to make myself a coffee, sliding £2 into the cash machine out of guilt.

 

Days were starting to feel like eternity. I felt unaccomplished. And though I had done well in terms of confidence and friend-making, I still had Eren lingering in the shadows.

 

I still had Marco too. I needed to figure him out, help him out, support him, but not many opportunities had come yet. The days were passing and yet nothing happened, nothing changed. I couldn’t fathom why I needed to know Marco more, but the need was as obvious as oxygen.

 

At six, with little customers to speak of, we decided to close the café. It didn’t stop us from leaving though. I sat myself on a table with Marco, Armin and Mikasa. We just chatted meaninglessly. About weather, politics, food, god knows what. The voices around me became monotonous and blurry. It was somewhat nice though.

 

The jingle of the door was heard, and everyone became quiet.

 

“We’re shu-” Hanji began, “Oh, hey Levi.”

 

We all turned to the door, where a short, dark haired man walked in. I instantly recognized him as the cleaner at my apartment block, but that meant nothing to me at that moment.

 

“ _Levi._ ” I whispered to myself. I knew that name well, and I already hated the man’s guts.

 

“Hey! Hey! Hold the door open will ya?!” Another painfully familiar voice could be heard behind Levi.

 

“Shut up, Eren,” Levi hissed, “I’m not holding any doors open for you.”

 

Many eyes turned towards me, all panicked and all frozen. No one spoke. Not even I moved.

 

Levi didn’t hold the door open, but Eren ran fast enough to catch it.

 

Sighing, Levi walked over to the counter where Erwin stood.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Erwin said to him in a voice that felt strangely out of character. I was so confused.

 

 _Why did Erwin call him sweetheart?_ I thought. And as Levi stood on his toes and pressed his lips against Erwin’s, I felt anger build up inside me.

 

Eren stood behind them. I thought he’d look angry because…he…Eren…Levi.

 

_What the fuck?!_

 

Eren laughed and joked, “Ew. Gross.”

 

Still kissing Erwin, Levi stuck his middle finger up at Eren, and that was it for me.

 

I pushed out my chair and stormed mercilessly over to them.

 

Everyone’s eyes burned at my back, but I didn’t care that they were watching. Something inside me clicked, and that something was as clear as day.

 

I wanted to protect Eren.

  
And god, I didn’t know why.

 

My fist clenched up and I pulled it back with all my strength. I hated hitting people, but my fist landed itself so hard into Levi’s jaw that a loud crack could be heard throughout the entire café.

 

I decided to not hit him again.

 

Instead, I shouted, “Fucking hell! You don’t know just how fucking much you have made me fucking _suffer_ , Levi Ackermann.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean likes Marco at this point. Not even a spoiler because I tried to show it. I'm just saying in case you didn't guess. Though, he hasn't realized yet!!
> 
>  
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)


	10. From Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babe, there's something wretched about this  
> Something so precious about this
> 
> -Hozier, From Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speedy update, shorter chapter, more cliffhangers, more fluff, more confusion, more drama.
> 
> If it makes you happier to know, the ENTIRE Eren situation will be revealed in the next four chapters.
> 
> While you wait for the next update (as I am writing another JeanMarco fic too it takes longer) just listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjAUpxoN5o23sfrfGAdsvW7E0HJAPexoy)
> 
> My [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//)

_It was the coldest February I had ever felt. The air bit at my skin as if ice crystals were trying to eat me. The bags under my eyes were getting even bigger thanks to fucking GCSE revision. Seriously, why would the government make education so stressful for teenagers?_

_Eren had told me he was late and couldn’t meet me at the usual waiting spot by the corner shop. I felt groggy enough as it was, but walking alone just made my day worse. Upon entering the school campus, I was hit with so much fatigue and general lethargy._

_Ever since New Years Eve in 2005, and my forgotten kiss with Eren, time had moved so slowly that a simple month felt like a lifetime. I hated myself for loving him, and I hated him for being so breathtaking._

_Almost slipping on the ice about 8000 times, I finally made it to the entrance. Armin stood by the door._

_“Good Morning, Jean!” he smiled._

_“Eugh.” I replied._

_Chuckling at me, he patted my shoulder and said, “I know, I know. You’re exhausted. The studying will be worth it in the end. Unless…”_

_“Unless?”_

_“You’re just grumpy because no girls have given you any Valentines chocolate.”_

_I laughed in response, “Yeah? I’m_ devastated _, honestly.”_

_“Ha, knew it.” He replied._

_“I don’t trust chocolate given by random girls anyway, Armin. What if its cheap crap? Anyway, have you got any love interests?”_

_We neared the lockers, “Nah. No girls give V-day gifts to gay guys. And the one guy I like is already taken. His girlfriend is terrifying! Wouldn’t dare go near her.”_

_Armin talked some more, but I decided not to listen. Obviously, this was nothing personal to Armin…I just couldn’t process it. He probably knew I didn’t really care, but he talked anyway because he enjoyed it._

_I pushed the key into the slot on my locker and jumped as a little note fell out._

_“Got it.” Armin stated as he caught the little off-white piece and handed it me, “Revision notes?”_

_“Er…no. I don’t think so.”_

_I opened the paper (it was folded terribly in half), and read the words:_

**_Jean, meet me at the lake. Now._ **

_I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere._

_“Eren,” I said to Armin, “He wants me to meet him. But why?”_

_Armin shrugged his shoulders, “You never know with Jaeger. I say go for it. It’s not everyday he leaves notes in peoples lockers.”_

_“Yeah,” I said, laughing nervously, “Screw school anyway.”_

_I earned a couple of questioning looks leaving school campus just as school was about to begin, but I ignored them as usual. I made an exception for Mikasa though, and offered her a small motionless wave as she passed._

_The walk to the lake took just 10 minutes from school, down a quick route that wasn’t really meant to be a path but seemed fairly accessible. This lack of access stopped people in Trost ever going to the lake, therefore Eren and I went when we needed some quiet time, either together or alone._

_Finally, I made it through the forest-y path, and found myself in the open. Unsurprisingly, Eren was sat on the rocks next to the water. I walked over to him without saying anything. The ice had just cracked, and water was seeping through._

_“I wanted to hate you when I first met you.” Eren said, his voice so monotonous that I couldn’t tell where he was going at all, “But I knew after just 10 minutes that it would never happen.”_

_“I never thought you hated m-”_

_“And after that, I really, really,_ really _came to like you, you know? I’m so grateful that we met. I think sometimes: what if I never became friends with you? Just…I don’t know. It makes me sad to think about that.”_

_“Eren-”_

_“God, lately I have been going crazy, Jean,” He finally turned to me but his bright blue-green eyes were wet with tears, “I’m so sorry. I’m so disgusting. I’m in love with you.”_

_I felt my heart stop. I didn’t know what or how to think. He looked cold, weak and shattered, like shards of glass against hard tile floor. I decided to just walk over to him and wrap my arms around him gently._

_  
I was bony and lanky with sharp features and a skinny body, but when I touched Eren I became so weak at the knees and my body just softened around him. It was so out of character, but I just loved Eren, and he loved me._

_“You know, I kissed you on New Years Eve,” He said, “But you were drunk and you forgot.”_

_I buried my face in his shoulder and stroked against his back gently. In the end, I couldn’t help but laugh. Not harsh, but breath-taken and wispy._

_“You’re an idiot.” I muttered in his ear, “I can still taste your lips even now.”_

_“What?”_

_Pressing my forehead against his, “I know I kissed you, and I’d love to kiss you again.”_

_He smiled, and I wiped some of his tears away, “Yeah,” He said as he moved forward, “I’d like that too.”_

 

* * *

 

 

**_(52 Missed Calls In Total)_ **

**_Historia (10 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Historia**

**> >Jean, God, please answer us!**

**From: Historia**

**> >Please don’t hurt yourself again.**

**_Sasha (6 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Sasha**

**> >Jean boy, we’re so worried!**

**_Connie (5 Missed Calls)_ **

****

**_Armin (6 Missed Calls)_ **

****

**_Mikasa (3 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Mikasa**

**> >Jean, don’t play this game.**

****

**_Bertholdt (4 Missed Calls)_ **

****

**_Reiner (7 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Reiner**

**> >Not cool dude. Not cool. Look, just come back and it’ll be fine. We’re here for you bro. **

**_Ymir (5 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Ymir**

**> >Picasso, you’re shitting Historia up. Seriously. God, you’re even making me worried. Think about Marco. Think of us and think how we can help you resolve this.**

**_Hanji (4 Missed Calls)_ **

**From: Hanji**

**> >Levi’s pissed, but he’s willing to talk about this. We know you wouldn’t punch him for no reason. Come back, Jean. Don’t do something dangerous again!**

**_Marco (12 Missed Calls)_ **

****

**_Marco (33 Messages)_ **

****

**_Marco (20 Emails)_ **

**_Incoming Call from Marco._ **

****

**_Call Ended._ **

****

“Guys,” I laughed to myself though it hurt and was forced, “I’m not going to kill myself. Not now. Not after everything.”

 

After punching Levi, I felt sick and ran away. Just like before, I ran. It turned out that I just _loved_ running away from my problems. Classic-fucking-Jean.

 

Marco probably called after me. I didn’t look back though; I’d feel too guilty.

 

What surprised me the most is that I hit Levi, and not Eren. Although they both caused me suffering, I didn’t want to hurt Eren.

 

In other words, I _couldn’t_.

I sat at my coffee table and distracted myself with sketching and writing but everything failed and it stressed me out even more.

 

In the end, I lay in my bed and watched my phone screen blare with messages and incoming calls as I tried to block out the thoughts of Eren Jaeger.

 

Hours passed, and the cars drove by. The sky became pitch black, and my stomach grumbled for food.

 

I made some quick spaghetti, and sat on the sofa with _Back to the Future_ playing on TV. I thought to myself, _If I had a time machine, I would travel back to the day I met Eren. And I would walk away._

 

I wonder what would have happened after that. I could have met Marco still, and been mentally stable too.

 

If alternative universes exist, then there was one where I never met Eren Jaeger. Though, I’m sure that universe would have been equally depressing.

 

After eating, I fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Safe,_ I smiled to myself as I took a sneaky turn through the corridor. I didn't want anyone spotting me. Though, everyone was probably in class.

 

I felt a little relieved, refreshed even, to be alive and alone even after fucking up. It was a Jean Kirschtein Phenomenon! But just staying at home was a bad idea. I needed to go somewhere to think.

 

And Ymir had shown me just the right place for that.

 

* * *

 

 

A 30 minute walk later, I found myself beside the lake. The water was just hardening, but it wasn’t cold enough yet for it to be fully frozen over. When I had kissed Eren for the second time, the water was just melting. I remember that day so well, the sky being dark even at 9:15 am. The taste of his lips against mine and the touch of his fingers. We cried together for a while, just wondering what to do next. We walked home afterwards, took the day off school...

 

I could say our lives went uphill from then, but they really just went down. It was pretty much a rollercoaster, and I was still riding it even years later.

 

I sat myself by the rocks, this time the sky was a little brighter, that cold December sun gazing down at me. I thought about what my friends might be doing.

 

Ymir would be smiling as usual, acting like everything was okay. She’d harass Reiner, make fun of her friends in a joking manner, and then sit in lesson and hate herself for loosing Historia. She was probably on edge with me gone too.

 

Armin would be biting at his nails, and ignoring Mikasa’s every request to _stop_ biting them. He’d look wide eyed, scared and confused. And despite not showing it, Mikasa would be worried sick too.

 

Marco, he’d blame it on himself. He would be sitting there in his German class wondering what he did wrong and how he could have stopped me. Even though he had literally nothing to do with my actions. He’d think, ‘If only Jean and I never met…I wouldn’t have ruined everything for him.’

 

Levi, well, Levi would be fuming. He’d probably want to beat the shit out of me. Erwin probably persuaded him not to, and that he just needs to talk to me.

 

 _Eren_. Eren would feel guilty.

 

A couple of hours passed, and I let my body go numb in the cold.

 

* * *

 

 

My shoulder began to shake, almost violently. I felt a presence beside me, but I didn’t understand what was going on. My face was hot, but my body was icy.

 

I tore my eyes open.

 

“Eren said you would be here,” Marco said while shaking, his hand still pushing at my shoulder to wake me up, “What the hell, Jean, I thought you’d-”

 

“Mar-”

 

“We all thought you had…you know… _again_.”

 

I sat up on the rock, and rubbed my back where I’d been lying on it.

 

Marco was sat beside me, his scent of vanilla becoming the only scent I could smell. Redness had spread over his dark tanned cheeks and he panted as if he was out of breath. I thought maybe he’d been running, but I realized he was just _scared_.

 

“Marco,” I muttered with sleepiness still clinging on to me, “Yesterday you said you were… _proud_ , of me. I don’t want to die anymore. I couldn’t even bring myself to do that.”

 

I placed my hand on Marco’s cheek to try and calm him down, but he just shivered and looked down at the water.

 

I shuffled forward onto his lap so that I could face him. I didn’t need to open my eyes to see him, because feeling him was enough. His breath against my neck, his wet eyes looking directly at me, the blush in his cheeks and every single freckle beautifully drawn to his skin.

 

He moved his arms to my hips and pulled me closer. We were hugging again, my heart racing at an incomprehensible speed, my eyes not knowing where to look, hands not knowing where to touch. Somehow, there was no awkwardness, there never really was any awkwardness between Marco and I, it was a natural friendship. Comforting.

 

Time became non-existent with Marco, hours passing as if they were minutes. The beat of his heart became my seconds; his golden-brown eyes became my universe.

 

It scared me; it really did, that I was becoming so attached to Marco Bodt.

 

* * *

 

 

“I told you to get a coat, Jean.” Marco said as we stood up from the rocks.

 

I chuckled, “That was yesterday. And I’m not _really_ cold.”

 

“Liar!”

 

“’Scuse me?”

 

“You’re a liar,” He smiled, “You’re hands are freezing, I can see you rubbing them together.”

 

“Well, Marco, surely you know that coats aren’t meant for warming hands and that, really, you should be advising me to wear gloves.” I sassed back at him.

 

He pulled a face of disbelief that _good god Jean Kirschtein did you just dare to outsmart me?!_

 

We emerged out of the forest at some time after 4:30. The sky above us was half-light and half-dark, but the stars could be seen vividly like the freckles on Marco’s cheeks. All clouds were in the distance, and we didn’t care that they were nearing.

 

I watched Marco’s chest rise and fall, and the white clouds of breath emerge from his mouth as he exhaled. His shoulder brushed against mine, and sent shivers down my spine as if my entire central nervous system was being electrified.

 

Our fingertips touched each other and my face heated up, I wanted to pull my hand away but I couldn’t. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and turned his face away from me.

 

By this point we were in the town centre of Trost, the streets filled with people wandering about the shops for Christmas presents.

 

“Marco,” I muttered, “People will think we’re _dating_.”

 

He smiled and laughed a bit, a breathy laugh, “Who cares. People here don’t think anything of a gay couple.”

 

“But we’re not a gay couple.”

 

“I know that, Jean.” He said, “Whether they think we’re a couple, or just two friends keeping their hands warm like we _are_ , no one cares either way.”

 

I sighed. Honestly, I was glad that he didn’t let go. Not many batted an eyelid, and somehow I didn’t care about the people who did.

 

Looking up, I noticed that the stars had disappeared, and the sky had clouded over. It was only when I felt droplets of ice-cold rain pierced my skin that I decided to tell Marco.

 

“It’s raining.”

 

“ _Really?_ ”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“ _Wow_ Sherlock, I didn’t even realize.”

 

“Shut up, we’re going inside.”

 

I dragged him into the nearest bar, just before it started raining heavily (which it fucking well did, _thanks_ England), and sat with him on a little two-seater table.

 

Eventually a waiter came up to us with a clearly forced smile, “Hello there, I’m afraid you’ll have to order something if you come inside.”

 

I frowned at him, “I don’t have my wallet.”

 

“Sorry then y-”

 

“I do,” Marco smiled, “I’ll just have some diet coke, and he’ll have…”

 

“Rum and coke,” I cheesed, “Please.”

 

* * *

 

 

The waiter handed us our drinks and I decided not to ask him why he’d go for coke over alcohol. Or just why he’d go for coke in general. That shit’s _nasty_.

 

“So Eren told you I’d be by the lake?” I asked him with my eyebrow raised. It was becoming less painful to say Eren’s name. Though I still felt terribly sober.

 

He nodded, “Yep, not the specifics though. Never said you’d be sleeping when I got there.”

 

I laughed.

 

“I think he is worried about you too, Jean.”

 

It never occurred to me that he might be worried, just that he’d feel guilty. In a way I felt more comforted in thinking he’d be worried. It meant he didn’t despise me, and that I wasn’t first place on his ‘to murder’ list.

 

_Still, screw Eren, right?_

“It sounds weird, but can I ask, h-how has Eren been recently?”

 

Marco sighed, “Don’t worry, I won’t judge you for asking.”

 

He paused and took a sip of his drink with his eyebrows furrowed before continuing, “He’s…not doing good. When he talked to me earlier, he was heading out of school…to the psychiatrists. Lately though, since probably September, he’s seemed really depressed and sometimes violent too. I don’t get it.”

 

“Well,” I began, “Come to think of it, he really does get violent and angry in winter. I never questioned it, but I think Mikasa and Armin know the truth. They said he’d tell me if I asked but I don’t want to. I don’t know if someone died or if he holds some grudge against winter…”

 

Marco twirled his finger round his glass in infinite circles, deep in thought, “I wish I knew, Jean. I hate violence a lot, and sometimes it scares me when he looks like he could kill someone.”

 

I chuckled forcefully, only trying to lighten the mood but too obviously failing, “I’ve been there, Marco, I was scared of him too.” I shivered.

 

He hummed in response, a melancholy hum. More of sigh.

 

“I hate myself for saying this, but I don’t hate him. I thought he’d done something horrible to me, but I don’t even know if that’s the truth anymore. What if I just saw the situation wrong? I’ve hurt people, Marco, and I’ve hurt _myself_ – all because of him. But what if that’s for nothing? What if everything I’ve _been through_ is for nothing? I’d feel so ashamed. So embarrassed, Marco. I don’t hate him though, and I wish to god I had punched him instead, but I feel more angry at Levi and I haven’t even spoke to the man before! I want the truth from Eren, but I can’t bring myself to talk to him. Not now. What if he is depressed…and he has to see a psychiatrist…and it’s _my_ fault.”

 

“Jean,” Marco whimpered, “I’m sorry you have to figure this all out, but I can be a shoulder to lean on while you do.”

 

“I can’t thank you enough, Marco Bodt.”

 

_Selfish brat, doesn’t he have enough weight on his shoulders already?_

 

“You already have. More than enough.” He smiled over his empty glass, “Want another?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Jean.” Marco said sternly. I probably would have been scared of him if not for me being a bit…tipsy.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’ve had enough to drink now.” He stated without flinching.

 

“What?! No way, Marco. You’re just too sober.”

 

“I don’t like alcohol.”

  
“Come on, man, just one…” I grinned.

 

He winced at me, and smiled evilly before completely changing into a different facial expression and tone of voice, “Oh, _Jean_ , I can’t _believe_ you’d make me buy you _so_ many drinks and then beg for _more_ , I have so little money this month and all that I had has gone now. How am I to feed my younger _brother?!_ ”

 

 _Fuck you,_ I thought, _Fuck you and your believable acting to make me feel guilty as fuck_.

 

“Let’s get the bill.” I said.

 

_After all, I have beer at home._

Somehow, though, I still felt a little bad. Although he was joking around, and although he was playing sadistic guilt games, there was still wet in his eyes as he told me to stop.

 

* * *

 

 

I gave Marco’s hand a final squeeze before reaching inside my pockets for keys. The apartment gave a nice warm release upon entering, surrounding our icy wet bodies with heat.

 

I took Marco’s jacket and hung it over the radiator to warm up and dry. We decided to shower, and that Marco would go first and that I’d make the dinner while he did. It felt like we lived together and that we were a married couple.

 

I slapped myself where my heart was, and cursed at myself for letting it beat over something so dumb. I shoved the Macaroni Cheese in the oven and sat at the table to wait for Marco to be done.

 

Marco had explained that Romeo was staying with Ymir, and that we needed to leave him there to give Ymir company. Somehow, Historia still hadn’t made up with Ymir. God, it was stressful. It needed to be fixed.

 

I chose not to check any more of my messages either. I just wanted to surround myself with Marco.

 

When he finally emerged from the shower with the bright blue towel wrapped low around his hips, and a big nervous smile on his face, I averted my eyes because I knew damned well I was blushing.

 

“Can I borrow a shaver?”

 

I nodded, took a breath and looked at him, “Course you c-can.”

 

_You stuttered, idiot._

 

Marco rubbed at the back of his neck, “T-thanks??”

 

I sighed, mostly at myself, “It’s in the bottom cupboard.”

 

He nodded and saluted me before walked back into the bathroom.

 

I snorted and shouted after him, “You’re a fucking dork!”

 

There was no reply, just the distant noise of fumbling and then the sudden buzz of a razor. Then the razor noise stopped and I heard, “Watch your language!”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“ _Mio dio,_ I didn’t even realize that Macaroni cheese could get any better than the Tesco’s microwave version…” He patted his stupid freckled stomach and took the empty plates to the dishwasher.

 

I glared at him and he knew he was guilty of crime, “1) Don’t talk about food, like ever, if you have no logic when doing so, and 2) D-Don't say random Italian stuff, it takes me by surprise. You’re accent is pretty much invisible, I forget you’re even _from_ Italy.”

 

“Can’t make promises, Princess.”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ make me create a third rule.”

 

He giggled like a child and ran over to the sofa, switching on the TV and turning on Netflix as if he fucking _owned_ the place. To be honest, he’d slept over so much he may as well have owned it.

 

Finally, after _hours_ of deciding, he picked _Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure,_ and I patted his shoulder proudly for liking that film.

 

We laughed together, snuggled under a duvet on that cold December night as if we really were a couple. _Fuck it_ , I thought, and slipped my hand into his. I thought he’d say something, but he didn’t even flinch.

 

After a few minutes, he said, “Come to think of it, Levi used to be a psychiatrist.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” I hissed, trying god damn hard to let any thoughts take over me.

 

“Yeah. He was, he helped people out with their mental health. I know he’s a cleaner now, but what if _he_ helps Eren?”

 

“Marco, please, fucking don’t do this.”

 

“What? What do you mean?”

 

“That possibility that I fucked up, yeah, it’s fucking bigger now. I really, really, _really_ don’t know what to do!”

 

Marco didn’t answer me, but instead squeezed my hand tighter and drew little infinity signs against my thigh with his finger. He suddenly turned so gentle, and carried on soothing me until I gave up, flopping over and lying with my head on his lap.

 

I looked up at him and I could just feel the tears in my eyes. I didn’t cry, I just let them roll out without making any noise or any attempts to wipe them away.

 

It felt like darkness was claiming me, from my feet, up my legs and wrapping around my narrow waist. It felt like I was gripping onto this light, this _hope_. I looked up at Marco, and he leaned over me, our noses nearly touching. I thought for a moment that I could just stay there forever and ignore everything. I’d let Marco keep the light burning until I died. But all candles have to burn out, just like how I had to face it.

 

Marco placed a hand on my cheek and spoke gently.

 

“Jean, what happened between you and Eren?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I have a favour to ask:
> 
> Can you maybe leave comments and stuff?
> 
> I mean you don't have to though.
> 
> I just really love your comments, they motivate me to keep writing. If it weren't for the comments I've received, I'd have given up on this already.
> 
> Tell me:  
> Did you like the chapter?  
> Did you hate it?  
> Did it sound stupid?  
> Do Marco and Jean make you cringe?  
> Have you figured anything out?  
> Do I need to get a life? xD
> 
> Anything is cool. I just like talking to you guys.
> 
> If you hate comments for some reason, you could leave an ask on my [tumblr](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com//).
> 
> Or you could just carry on with life idk.
> 
> ____
> 
> Anyhow, OH MY GOD MARCO AND JEAN YOU GUYS ARE SO GAY STOP MAKING ME CRY WHEN WRITING THIS EW SO GAY I LOVE YOU.
> 
> and eren bby pls be ok...


	11. Another Love - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanna take you somewhere so you know I care  
> But it's so cold and I don't know where  
> I brought you daffodils in a pretty string  
> But they won't flower like they did last spring
> 
> -Tom Odell, Another Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FLASHBACK CHAPTER.
> 
> I like to keep my chapters a similar length so I had to split this cause its a lil long, and yet still this chapter is the longest I've written despite it being part one. I’m afraid the next chapter may be delayed as i'm on a hiatus now, see [this post](http://kaffihuss.tumblr.com/post/132415019783/going-on-hiatus)
> 
> This is the happy section of the split chapter.  
> I don't apologize for the erejean, it's in the damned tags and it's necessary to the plot. Hopefully you might start shipping them a little cause aw damn they are adorable.
> 
> Lastly, comments are my favourite, I love a good comment. It motivates me, you get the idea.
> 
> Extra: Okay I'm aware 18 is the legal age for funky business in some countries, but in England it's 16 so don't spam me with law and 100 reasons why I have sinned thank you.

**_September 9 th, 2003._ **

****

_“_ That’s Mikasa,” He pointed at the girl and she gave an emotionless smile, if that’s even possible, and I somewhat waved at her like a primary school kid. Then he showed me to the boy that sat next to Mikasa. His eyebrows sat in a smouldering but angry position on his sun-kissed skin. His eyes were of a beautiful emerald colour, flushes of dark and light. His lips played a smirk that honestly made me weak at the knees and I was surprised I hadn’t seen him and drawn him by then.

 

“Eren.” The boy said harshly, introducing himself, “Eren Jaeger.”

_\---_

By divine providence, I ended up being sat next to Eren Jaeger in Geography. I gulped and shuffled around, and the whole scene felt like Bella and Edward’s terribly awkward first science lesson together – except without the whole vampire thing.

 

Our teacher was called Miss. Langnar, which I only remember because she was German and so was I. Still am, surprise surprise. Anyway, she smiled at us all in a suspiciously angelic manner before introducing herself as, guess what, Miss. Langnar.

 

After this she said, “This is obviously your second year of Geography, but you have me this year, which means a new class. So we’ll start out with some friendly introductions, okay? There is a quiz on your tables, and for this next 15 minutes, just answer the questions about your partner.”

 

Most people already knew each other; yet somehow still found the task interesting. I reached forward to get the quiz, and had a look at the questions. Eren and I still hadn’t talked.

 

Sighing, I said, “Nam- Ah wait, you already told me.”

 

He laughed but it sounded threatening rather than amused, “Come on, second one.”

 

“Favourite film?”

 

“Alien. Hate it? Hate you.”

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle, “Wow, you must have few friends if you hate people just for hating your favourite film.”

 

“Hah,” He laughed obnoxiously, and it felt like murder was coming my way, “Says the guy with _no_ friends.”

 

“Well,” I pouted, “Perhaps that’s because Alien is _my_ favourite film too.”

 

He grinned and hummed at me, “Really? I think you may have earned a friend. I love 80’s films.”

 

“I _would_ have accepted your friend request,” I replied, “But Alien came out in 1979.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_November 10 th 2003._ **

 

“I _did_ like Mikasa,” I sighed, “In a kiddy-crush kind of way.”

 

Eren just raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t like her that way anymore.”

 

Eren smiled a big smile. Like I said, he was mercurial. I never knew what emotions he would portray next. He’d literally just gone from sounding grumpy and pissed to smiling like an idiot.

 

God, his smile was wonderful. Every time his perfect white set of teeth were revealed between his wide-set, peach pink, Cheshire cat grinning lips, his eyes illuminated. I was mature enough to admit to myself that I had constant gay thoughts about Eren. I wasn’t the kind of guy to freak out about that though. At age 13, you’re slap bang in hormones. It’s quite possibly the most normal thing ever to question your sexual orientation at that age. And I was mature enough to know that anyone who denied it was a big liar.

 

I took a big sip of iced coffee as he began speaking, “Come on, Jean,” He shuffled into an extremely sexy position, biting gently at the end of his fingertips, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

 

I choked on my coffee and started laughing, “Goddamn Eren,”

 

He started laughing too, “What? Titanic is fantastic.”

 

“I mean, I haven’t drawn any French girls, but I can draw you if you want?”

 

He laughed, “Okay, make me look real nice.”

 

I looked at him. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand. His other arm lay casually on his hipbone. His neck and his collarbones were revealed. I could see the tanned glow of his skin. I’m pretty sure I blushed but I didn’t care anymore.

 

“You already do.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_December 31 st, 2005._ **

Unable to resist temptation, I pulled Eren into my arms. He didn’t resist me either. Somehow, It felt like he knew exactly what I was doing, because as I moved my hands down to his waist, his eyes fluttered shut. Underneath the moonlight and the fireworks, I kissed Eren Jaeger and he kissed me back. The taste of his lips against mine was wonderful, the feeling of them pressed against mine felt so natural and so…perfect.

 

Eren yawned as I pulled away, smiling gently afterwards. He buried his head in my chest and let me carry him to the bed. It didn’t take long at all for the both of us to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

**_January 1 st, 2006_ **

My heart sunk and I remembered something haunting about the night before. He was drunk. _He didn’t remember_.

 

With a final ‘okay’, we just packed up our bags and left the hotel room. To him, nothing ever happened. To him, even one shred of memory would have just been thought as a weird dream. To him, I was still just his best friend.

 

It made me feel sick to the marrow of my bones.

 

* * *

 

 

**_February 2 nd, 2006_ **

“Screw this, screw exams, screw GCSE’s and screw school-”

 

“Eren, please, it’s not even a bad part.” I told him.

 

“But Jean, it’s a bad _play_ , and all parts in a bad _play_ are bad _parts_!”

 

Eren held out his script, which read ‘The Tempest’ across the front. Admittedly, I hated that play, but I had to study it for two years and so Eren was hardly suffering by just acting it for a few months. He was a good actor. I’d seen him play Mickey in _Blood Brothers_ and it brought me to tears watching it.

 

“Ariel is a cool character, Eren. He is a spirit, what’s cooler than that?”

 

“Um, how about _Caliban_ , the deformed slave, that sounds pretty cool. I mean, listen _Cursed be I that did so! All the charms_ _of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!_ I want to say those words!”

 

“Eren, remember what your drama teacher said, the acting industry is tough. You get what you’re given and you take all opportunities!”

 

He pouted and slammed his feet on the floor like a child. This was the one GCSE exam he was looking forward too, and now it was his official least favourite.

 

“Eren, come on. I’ve seen how good you are at acting, and I know you hate the role and the play, but you make it better. This is your chance to shine! Change the character and make Ariel be the one the audience remember the most. I know you can do that. And then when you’re graded A* come back to me and I’ll say ‘I told you so’.”

 

He sighed and flopped onto the bed with me, lying down and resting his head on my thigh in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I patted his hair, which felt softer and lighter than it had ever felt before.

 

“I just wish we were doing Romeo + Juliet.”

 

“I know,” I empathized, and stroked his hair. He shut his eyes and let me twirl strands of his dark curls around my finger. Eren was just being grumpy, but I still wanted to care for him when he wasn’t smiling. It hurt my heart to touch him and remember the kiss on New Years Eve.

 

It hurt knowing that I was so close and so far at the same time.

 

“ _I know_.” I repeated, and closed my eyes with him, feeling like we were in the same universe, but in complete other worlds.

 

 

* * *

 

****

**_ February 15th, 2006. _ **

 

_**Jean, meet me at the lake. Now.** _

__

**_\---  
_ **

 

“You’re an idiot.” I muttered in his ear, “I can still taste your lips even now.”

 

“What?”

 

Pressing my forehead against his, “I know I kissed you, and I’d love to kiss you again.”

 

He smiled, and I wiped some of his tears away, “Yeah,” He said as he moved forward, “I’d like that too.”

 

When he pressed his lips against mine, I felt tears falling out my eyes. For the first time in forever, the tears were happy tears. Neither of us knew how to kiss properly, and so it was just like the first time.

 

Fireworks in our hearts, shaking breaths and need for more.

 

As I kissed him, I thought that it wouldn’t be so bad an idea to give up breathing if it meant I could die kissing him. I wanted to savour the sweet taste of his lips, his smell of morning showers coffee. He warmed me up where a scarf and coat didn’t warm.

 

I didn’t think cold would bother me anymore if I could just kiss Eren.

 

\---

 

“Wanna skip school today?” He asked me, his hand awkwardly slipped in mine.

 

“Mmm, yeah, would be nice.” I replied squeezing his fingers, “But what do we say if we get questioned by our form tutor?”

 

He shrugged and let out a breathy laugh, “That we were to busy eating each others faces out.”

 

“Eren! Oh my god!” I blushed, but ended up laughing along with him, leaning my head onto his shoulder as if it were a pillow. He hated being shorter than me, but I like it a lot. I wanted to be on big spoon duty.

 

He pecked a small kiss on my cheek, “I think…I’m gonna like this.”

 

\---

 

 

 Upon returning home that night, my Father found Eren and I snuggled up on the sofa with the fire blazing beside us, duvet half fallen off us, hair tangled, and fingers intertwined.

 

* * *

 

 

**_February 27 th, 2006._ **

 

“Jean?” Father called from downstairs, forcing me to unplug my headphones. It wasn’t anytime near dinner, only 5pm to be exact, and Eren had just gone home after a study session. I shrugged and went downstairs anyway.

 

“Yeah?” I replied, swinging round the banister and hopping off the bottom stair, landing on the cold floor in my bare feet.

 

“You don’t have to, but I’d like to talk to you.” He said, while smiling.

 

Out of pure curiosity, I sat opposite him on the dining room table, “Everything okay?” I asked politely.

 

Grinning, he replied, “Of course. I just want to ask you about Eren.”

 

“W-What about him?”

 

He chuckled and his nose wrinkled a little at the top, the corners of his eyes too. He was getting old.

 

“Are you and Eren dating?”

 

I didn’t know what to reply. I don’t know if it was fear, my nerves, embarrassment, awkwardness…but something drove me to ignore him and go back upstairs. I took a few breaths when I sat back on my bed. Nothing was official, we weren’t ‘boyfriends’, and we hadn’t been on ‘dates’ - but undoubtedly, we both had feelings for each other.

 

I plugged back in my headphones, and carried on lying there and gazing out the window.

 

\---

 

There was knocking at my door. The time was 7pm on that same night. My ears hurt from listening to the same songs on repeat for so long.

 

“Jean, dinner is ready.”

 

The grumbling in my stomach sat me up and walked me over to the door, but I didn’t open it, and neither did my father.

 

“Before you come out or run away again, I will say what I wanted to say from here.”

 

Keeping my lips sealed, I listened to him.

 

“Eren is a wonderful boy, Jean. I can see that. He’s a really good friend to you, so are Armin and Mikasa. A few years ago your mother and I could have sworn you were depressed, but ever since you and Eren got close, your spirit came back, and we saw you smile so much more. We care so much about you Jean, and smiling shows us your doing ok. There is nothing more important to us than that. Just two weeks ago, I found you and Eren cuddled up in the living room. You were smiling then, Jean, and you were asleep! I don’t care who you date, Jean, because that's up to you to decide. But if you are with Eren, I’ll be so glad, because I know you’re safe, comfortable, and happy. Jean, we love you, and if you love Eren then so be it, nothing has changed.”

 

I choked on my tears as they streamed down my cheeks, making my skin all puffy. I wiped them away, and prodded my skin to hide the evidence. My lips felt swollen, but when I moved my fingers to touch them, I noticed that they were pulled into a smile.

 

* * *

 

**_ March 26th, 2006. _ **

 

“What do you want for your birthday?” I asked Eren as we sat in my room, squished up together on a plastic desk chair, just finishing up with some shitty chemistry revision about fractional distillation or some shit like that.

 

He thought for a moment, and then smiled.

 

“Take me somewhere.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, I replied, “Like?”

 

“Like…a _date_ , Jean.”

 

“Really? A date on your _birthday?_ ”

 

We hadn’t yet been on a date. In fact, nothing was really official between us. Dad knew, unfortunately for us, but other than that we hadn’t told anyone. Not even Armin or Mikasa.

 

I didn’t understand what couples did on a date, or how they worked, or where they went, but the idea didn’t seem so bad.

 

“Yes, love. Being with you is better than any present.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_March 30 th, 2006._ **

 

“Happy Birthday!” I shouted, and let my hands go from covering his eyes.

 

The clouds had cleared a bit outside. It was quite busy because of such good weather, yet somehow the voices around us were still blurs.

 

And then Eren’s voice was…really loud.

 

“The Zoo, Jean?! The fucking _Zoo?!_ ”

 

I giggled and grabbed his hand, “Come on, everyone loves the zoo. And shush with your effing, there are kiddies about.”

 

“Damn it,” He cursed, “I should have known we were at the zoo, it stinks of lion shit.”

 

“Oh Eren,” I sighed while holding back laughter, “We’re in the hippo enclosure.”

 

I heard his teeth grind together, but they pulled into a big beautiful smile.

 

“Ok. Fine. Let’s have a date.”

 

“Yes!” I cried.

 

“Shut up,” He joked, “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

 

\---

 

 “LOOK JEAN OH MY GOD LOOK!”

 

“EREN I AM LOOKING JESUS CHILL MAN!”

  
  
“THE TIGER IS LITERALLY CLIMBING THAT POLE!”

  
  
“I CAN SEE!”

 

“I LOVE THIS!”

 

I laughed at him, but I don’t think he heard. His face was pressed up against the glass of the enclosure, smiling as Xīwàng the tiger grabbed her lunch and pulled it back down the pole.  He was reluctant to admit it, but he actually loved the date more than even _I’d_ expected. Even when we ordered ‘Llama Llunches’ at the restaurant, consisting of _top-notch_ chicken nuggets and fries, he’d still smiled (well, I hadn’t, but I didn’t dare complain on his birthday). Even when the waitress brought out a small cake saying Happy Birthday on top. Even when we ate a slice and it tasted more like llama poop.   I had to give kudos to my father though, after all, he was the only who’d said, _‘Hey, why don’t you take Eren to the Zoo for his 16 th?’_ I’d originally been confused as to why, but gave up on thinking about it as soon as I noticed just how Eren’s face lit up throughout the entire day.  

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 7 th, 2006._ **

 

“Okay, this is from all of us,” Armin told me, and handed me the red package, terribly wrapped (clearly by Eren), “It had to be a shared gift.”

 

“Thanks you guys.” I said while a smile. Mikasa shrugged, Armin grinned, and Eren licked his lips (Don’t ask, it was a habit of his).

 

Inside the wrapper was a small blue box. A label was tied to itI lifted the lid and pulled out two little sheets of paper.

 

The first one was a ticket reading:

 

_ Brittany Ferries,  _

_ Plymouth to Roscoff, _

_ 21st April 2006 _

In confusion, I read the other; it was a leaflet this time.

 

_ Hotel Le Diana, Carnac, Bretagne. _

“Oh my god.” I said.

 

“ _Bien ou mal?_ Yay or nay ?”   “Yay, oh god, _bien bien!_ Good. Amazing. Yes. Good god, you guys, you bought me a holiday to _Brittany?!_ _Bretagne. Breizh._ Oh my god.”  

 

They laughed, Mikasa just smiling, but that was enough. They sat down at the table with me and Armin patted my shoulder.

 

“It was Eren’s idea. We’re all going. And your Mother said you can go visit her at some point.”

 

“Thank you, God, Thank you. _Eren_ , I took you to the _zoo_ and you give me all this!”

 

He pulled a pouty smile, twisting to the side a little, “Hey, the zoo was great.”

 

“God, when my father comes home tomorrow he’s going to be so shocked to hear this.”

 

“He knows, you arse, he helped us pay for it.” Eren chuckled.

 

“Thank you so much you guys.” I said for the final time, trying so hard not to cry.

 

I was going to see my mother again!

 

I was going on holiday…with Eren!!

 

“No problem,” Armin replied.

 

Mikasa shrugged and smiled-ish.

 

“Happy Birthday, Jean.” Eren muttered gently.

 

\---

 

I lay in bed, my music on full blast, singing along to the lyrics to keep myself busy. I kept glancing over to that little blue box on my desk, smiling every time as if I was glad it wasn’t a dream. It was a little lonely not having my Father home on my 16th birthday, but it wasn’t so bad.

 

I’d see him the next day.

 

One of my songs came to an end, and only then did I notice knocking at the door.

 

With an annoyed sigh, I got out of bed and walked to the front door. I didn’t think I’d find Eren Jaeger at the other side when I opened it.

 

“Back for more?” I joked.

 

“Pretty much,” He laughed, and held out a small bouquet of beautiful white roses, “Let’s just make a promise _not_ to laugh at Eren for holding out a bouquet of roses as a more romantic alternative for a birthday gift.”

 

I pulled him inside my door and kissed him, laughing at the same time. He didn’t really mind though. God, he was so magical. Just breathing his air sent me to an early grave.

 

I shut the door behind us and pushed him up against the wall to kiss him some more.

 

“I think I like you, Jean.”

 

Laughing, I nodded and pressed my forehead against his for the thousandth time, “Yeah. I think you mentioned that before actually.”

 

“Happy Birthday, Jean.” He whispered.

 

Kissing him, I offered, “You can stay the night if you want?”

 

“Hmmm, I might take you up on that.”

 

\---

 

“Wait, Eren, ah-” I moaned into his neck. He carried on kissing me, trailing his lips down my chest and stomach, nearing an area even _he_ hadn’t explored yet.

 

“Hey, Jean, we’re both 16 now.”

 

“And?” I shivered.

 

“We’re both… _legal_ …now. If you wanna?”

 

I let a breath escape my lips and my knees started shaking. I felt weak with him on top of me, in a good way. Never before had I let Eren beat me, or lead me, or overpower me in any way. But at that moment, with his lips making lightening shoot throughout my body, I wanted nothing other than his control.

 

“Y-yeah, I do. I’d like to. I like you a lot, Eren. I really do.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 21 st, 2006._ **

 

“See Jean,” Eren said while he patted my back, easing me as I threw up, “I told you to just eat something small on the ferry. But no, you go ahead and cook a full English breakfast.”

 

I coughed a final time before wiping my mouth with tissues, “I didn’t know I was seasick. Plus, I hate eating breakfast if it’s not my own.”

 

“The food on here is nice! Its just croissants!”

 

“Ugh,” I grimaced, “Bad croissants.”

 

He laughed and gave me some mints and mouthwash to…make my mouth taste less like barf.

 

We left the ferry toilets, and returned back to the cinema on board. Yes, a cinema, on a fucking ferry. Eren had told me it was due to the 6 hour journey needing entertainment, but it still seemed bizarre.

 

He managed to persuade me to eat some crackers (which tasted like sandpaper), though admittedly they did good. I drank my water in sips for the rest of the film.

 

\---

 

“Cheese!” Armin shouted, snapping a picture of Eren, Mikasa and I. I frowned instead, which was good enough for them.

 

Eren looked at me and smirked, “Let’s take a photo together…with that boat over there in the background.”

 

Armin volunteered to take on of us (as per usual), stepping back but this time pulling Mikasa with him. I pulled Eren towards me, so that he was leaning back on my chest, and hung my arm over his shoulder. His neck was damp with sweat, and the hot air forced his hair to stick up in places it never did, and his heart was beating fast. I pulled him close against my body, so I could feel all his curves and muscles and shapes.

 

He smiled back at me, and then towards the camera, and I did too. This time, it was a proper smile. Just seconds later, Eren pulled away from me and squealed, “Look, Jean! You can see land now! That’s Roscoff!”

 

I chuckled and grabbed his hand, hiding it between us where neither Mikasa nor Armin would see. I wondered how much longer we were going to keep hidden.

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 22 nd, 2006._ **

 

We arrived at the hotel around dinnertime because the taxi took ages to get from Roscoff to Carnac, and the traffic was pretty horrendous. We checked in at the desk, me being on French speaking duty, Eren and Mikasa getting bags, and Armin picking up some leaflets about attractions in the area.

 

“Okay,” He’d said as we stood outside the hotel rooms, “There are two rooms. I’m sharing with Mikasa, ‘nothing can go wrong with two gays of opposite gender in a bed,’ he’d said.”

 

We all chuckled, but then me and Eren looked at each other and snorted in realization.

 

“Nah. Nothing could. Same with two straight guys.” Eren joked, but Armin and Mikasa agreed thinking he was serious.

 

Inside the room were piles of towels and some coffee and tea, a few biscuits and a kettle. There were spare pillows, and free slippers. An assortment of free body washes and shampoos, soaps and toothpaste. And in the mini-fridge were some yoghurts. Eren was already packing his freebies into his suitcase.

 

We all unpacked our shit into the cupboards, and set out for dinner.

 

The warm evening sun was setting over the waters, creating a beautiful line of orange from the horizon all the way to the sand. We walked along theboulevard, and wandered around the shopping districts for somewhere that offered something vegetarian for Armin, and something decent quality for me. The restaurant was named _La Potiniere_ , and Armin literally sat down and squealed over the (really sexy) waiters. Eren and I composed ourselves. We _were_ straight after all. Pft.

 

The spaghetti carbonara I ate was good for the most part, cooked properly with egg and everything, however I was reluctant to admit it. They’d know I was just being stubborn anyway.

 

On the way back to _Le Diana_ we stopped for some ice cream at some place called Yogurt Breizh. It was really nice to have something cold in the heat - but I was too distracted by the way Eren would lick at his vanilla with a dumb smoulder and look me hard in the eye when doing so to even care about the taste of my own. He probably knew I’d not let him get away with the wicked torture; I just had to wait until we returned to the hotel.

 

He was _not_ prepared for what was coming.

 

In a good way.

 

Good for _us_ …maybe not for the hotel beds.

 

* * *

 

 

**_ April 25th, 2006. _ **

 

“What’s on today’s agenda?” Eren asked with early morning enthusiasm.

 

“ _Quiberon_. It’s a little strip of land…joint to Carnac. I showed it you on the map yesterday. I think it’s a few miles away, so we’re going to take a bus. And then there are a bunch of small beaches; my Grandpa said they’re really empty. So this time you can swim, Jean. Then after that, we’ll find a restaurant there.”

 

I nodded with Mikasa, but Eren laughed.

 

“It’s 38 degrees more than 3 hours away from midday with no clouds at all, Jean’s going in the sea whether he’s all alone or the entirety of China is sat watching. He’ll frazzle and spontaneously combust otherwise.”

 

He earned himself a prod in the ribs.

 

\---

 

The sand one the small beaches of Quiberon were golden. Eren was right, the sky had no cloud in sight. Across the water, you could see Carnac to the left, and sea to the horizon on the right. On the other side of the strip of land, if you looked out there was another island not so far away called _Belle-Île_. By 1pm, it got to 41 degrees, and as a person that lived in England all their life, 41 degrees may have been as hot as a bonfire. IT WAS FUCKING APRIL.

 

In an instant, Armin removed his shirt and lay down on a towel with sunglasses and a pink cap, held out a bottle of suncream to Mikasa, and asked her to help him put some on.

 

Eren pretty much turned limp and flopped face-first onto the sand, hopping back up at light speed after realizing how hot it was. I removed a flip-flop and pressed my foot against the ground to see, and my god, it _was_ fucking hot.

 

“Armin!” I cried, “I need _shade!_ ”

 

He laughed, “Sorry, there’s no escaping. I only packed towels, suncream, drinks, spare clothes and sandwiches.”

 

Mikasa snorted at this, pulling her hair into a rare ponytail and removing her damned red scarf for once in her life, “Armin, you’re that classic over-packing Englishman aren’t you. Pretty sure every French person I’ve seen has brought nothing but a towel.”

 

Armin laughed, “Maybe I am.”

 

\---

 

10 minutes later and neither Eren nor I could bare the heat.

 

“We’re going in the sea.”

 

I sighed, “ _You’re_ going in the sea.”

 

“Jean, there is no one else on this beach, and what the hell do you have to be ashamed of?!”

 

“My body,” I stated, “Duh.”

 

He laughed out of pure disbelief, “It can’t be that bad. ‘Gives me boners faster than I can work out 1 + 1.”

 

“EREN!” I swatted him.

  
  
“Look, even Mikasa has her top off, I mean sure she has a bikini top on but still. Love, it’s _Mikasa_ we’re talking about.”

 

I glared at him hard. He glared back. It was like we were trying to decipher each other’s thoughts, yet neither of us were really thinking anything. It was just a glaring contest because the both of us were too stubborn to give in to each other. I didn’t want to go topless, and he wanted me to.

 

Eventually, he sighed (loudly) and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. I knew, by his facial expression exactly what he was doing.

 

He pulled up his shirt slowly, revealing a dark trail of hair from his navel, and a beautiful tanned set of abs. His chest glistened; sweat dripping down from his neck. He unscrewed the lid of his water bottle, and stood up to take a drink from it, letting some water fall out the corner of his mouth and drip down across his chest and stomach. He threw the bottle next to his towel and turned around, flexing his back muscles before winking at me and running to the sea.

 

“Fuck you!” I shouted loudly, loud enough for Armin to hear from over near the rocks. I stood up and brushed some sand off my white skinny jeans, made of fucking cotton (not a good choice when there’s a nice big lump going on). Two girls walked past me with their dog and snickered. That was it.

 

I pulled off my shirt and gasped when the heat hit me, shimmied out of my trousers and ran towards the sea after Eren.

 

He was stood waiting in the shallows of the water, trying to adjust to the temperature, so I made sure to approach him silently.

 

At full power, I pushed him forward and he fell face first into the cold water. I burst into fits of evil laughter as he lifted himself out of the water, dripping wet and shivering.

 

“You son of a bitch.” He said with a grin, and grabbed my arm to pull me down with him. I gave in and laughed as I fell on top of him.

 

The water was icy, but still better than the sun’s death rays. I wrapped my arms around Eren to warm myself up a bit, though it was more like I was wrestling him – not that wrestling was a bad idea, he deserved it. He giggled and buried his nose in the crook of my neck.

 

“ _You’re_ the son of a bitch, Eren Jaeger.”

 

“My mother is no bitch!” He laughed. Of course, Eren would reply with that. Jeez, he was so predictable, “Jean, aw you have a boner, it’s jabbing into my leg.”

 

“B-bastard, why d’you think I ran here, ‘had to look at your ugly damn face to go soft again.”

 

“Hmmm, really,” He raised an eyebrow, “Then, honey, soften up a bit, feel’s like a piece of bloody reinforced concrete.”

 

I choked, “Oh you’re in for it now.”

 

Forcefully, I dunked him under the water and he flailed about trying to escape.

 

After he’d received all the dunks I deemed necessary, I pulled him up out of the water and kissed him before he could speak. He froze in place for a moment, though relaxing a little after a second and kissing me back. His hand met my cheek and we deepened the kiss, wet lips and not enough air, hot shoulders and shivering bodies. The sound of planes and waves surrounded us and I melted into him while I could. I decided that that kiss would be the thing I remembered the most in our holiday.

 

\---

 

“I’m cold.” I told him and stood up, “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

 

He smiled and kissed me gently against my jaw, “Kay, I’ll swim for a bit longer then come join you.”

 

I nodded and walked out of the water, instantly warming and drying as the sun met my skin again.

 

I lay down on the beach towel and took a sip of water before putting my sunnies back on and, stupid me, I forgot to put suncream on.

 

Footsteps neared me and I smiled and sat up about to say something sassy, but it turned out to be Armin rather than the dumb guy named Eren who remained sploshing around in the sea like he was a fish.

 

“Mind if I sit?” Armin asked me, already placing his arse beside me before I even answered.

 

“’Course. Did Mikasa get too boring?” I joked.

 

He chuckled in response, “Pft, _never_. I just wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Uh oh, what have I done? If it’s that glass that I broke and hid I swear I’ll pay you back-”

 

“No!” He laughed, covering his mouth like the action made him moral or something, “I was going to ask about you and Eren.”

 

“Wha…What about us?”

 

“Well I heard some noises the other night when I went to get a glass of water at like…midnight? I guess I just assumed it was my head, you know? Everyone’s senses go a bit funky in the night.” I didn’t quite know about the funky senses, but I knew exactly what noises he heard, “You and him have been very…intimate. Like, I already know you’re close, but you’ve been overly close these last couple of days.”

 

“Well, um-” I began, but he shushed me.

 

“And before I heard you shouting and decided to see what was going on. You were just chasing him, so I went back to reading my book, but only a minute later I look up and you’re making out with him like you’re in a damned teen romance film.”

 

I couldn’t help but laugh at this, which was unexpected of me, because usually I’d deny the accusations in an instant. I wasn’t ashamed, though, and it’s hardly like I’d have been able to erase his memory, “Y-Yeah. ‘Guess we got carried away.” I coughed.

 

“Jean, is Eren your boyfriend?”

 

Well, I sure hadn’t heard that word before. And come to think of it, we hadn’t added labels to our relationship, heck, we hadn’t even called it a relationship. We’d just kissed away our feelings for each other and known that we were where we wanted to be. Sure, we’d had a ‘date’, and we were ‘together’, but I’d never thought about the word ‘boyfriend’.

 

“Boyfriends…well, I guess we are?”

 

He bit his lip and blinked a bit, “That’s adorable.”

 

I snorted and rolled onto my side in laughter, hiccupping on the floor in a way that looked more like I was about to have a hernia than a pure fit of giggles, “Trust you to say that, Arlert. You’re like my fucking Mum sometimes.”

 

“I won’t even deny that, Jean. It's true – you’re not my friends, you're my children. Wait, ew that’s gross, _non-related_ children even.”

 

We both jumped a little at the sound of Mikasa laughing from by the rocks.

 

“Oops, looks like _Dad’s_ overheard.” Armin grinned.

 

I smiled back at him, and then lay back down and didn’t even care when the sun blinded my eyes. I felt too happy to care.

 

“Oh and Jean?” He said, “I expect the money back for that glass by the end of the month.”

 

\---

 

“God, Jean, would you fucking stay still,” Eren ordered me.

 

I shuffled around on the bed, “It hurts, goddamn it. Stop touching me!”

 

“I have to put the lotion on you or it’ll hurt even more!”

 

I groaned into the pillow and let him squeeze more lotion onto his hands.

 

 _(After-sun_ lotion, may I add, for you dirty minded buggers.)

 

“Jean, your back is raw, god, how could you forget _sun-cream_?! You’re insane. Shit, I’m dating a mad-man.” He spoke to himself.

 

“You didn’t put any on!” I replied.

 

“I know, but I don’t burn. I tan. My parents are Turkish, love.”

 

I chose not to reply, and put up with with the ice-cold sting of after-sun being rubbed all over my burned body. _When my skin returns to normal_ , I thought, _I’m murdering him in revenge_.

 

“Hey Eren,” I asked when he finished, sitting up and stretching hesitantly as if my skin would tare apart.

 

“Hmm?” He replied and turned to me, his nose bashing into mine when he did so, “Ouch. What is it?”

 

“Will you be…my boyfriend?”

 

I expected him to say _You idiot, we already are. Why else would I be fucking you?!_

 

But no, he blushed a little, his tanned cheeks tinted rose as much as they could.

 

“Y-Yeah. I’d…like that.”

 

I pressed my lips on his and held back the rivers in my eyes that felt lie they were about to spill, “Me too.” I replied, “Let’s be boyfriends.”

 

He smiled against my lips too, happiness dwelling in his emerald eyes, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

 

We both lay down and tucked ourselves into bed, it was late and we were exhausted. His lips found the crook of my neck and he melted against me again, it was the place he liked the most. The clock on the wall ticked, minutes sounding like seconds. In a state of dreams and the final wisps of being awake floating around me, I swore I heard the word ‘boyfriend’ being spoken. But I’ll never know if it was in my head, or if Eren said the words himself.

 

Either way, the words still sounded warmer than the heat any sun in any galaxy could offer.

 

* * *

 

 

**_April 27 th, 2006._ **

 

“ _Jean!_ Baby, _mon fils bien-aimé.”_ Mother held me in her arms, so tight that I almost suffocated, and muttered random words in both French and English.

 

Eren and I had taken a train to her house from Carnac, it lasted an hour and we were both a little tired. Armin and Mikasa had stayed at the hotel to give me some time alone with my mother, but yet insisted I brought Eren with me.

 

When I questioned them about why he should come, they’d said, _‘No reason._ ’

 

And with a raise of my eyebrow Armin finally muttered, _‘Don’t you think you should tell your Mother about you and him, if your Father knows, shouldn’t your Mother know too?’_

 

I thought about it, and realized that maybe I should, especially considering he and I were…boyfriends. My Father was a little more modern than my mother, though, so it worried me that she might not react how he did.

 

“Hello, Maman, I’ve missed you.” I replied to her, patting her shoulder a little so she’d release me.

 

“Goodness, you’ve grown up so much, you’re so tall, and thin!” She cried, “Are you eating enough, son?!”

 

I chuckled to myself as Eren stepped forward, “He sure does, eats 2,500 calories a day, good food too, his metabolism is just crazy, so is his height.” He held out a hand for Mother to shake, “Nice to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Kirschtein.”

 

Of course my Mother didn’t accept his hand, and pulled him in for a hug instead, kissing both his cheeks and grinning, “Gosh, you look and sound so different in real life than you do on _the skype_ , very handsome.” I face palmed and covered my cheeks, which had turned bright crimson.

 

“No, no.” He told her, “Not as attractive as Jean, he definitely takes after you.

 

I groaned in embarrassment at the both of them, and Mother swatted him in the arm, “Aren’t you a charmer! Anyway, come inside for lunch, but be quieter as my Mother is asleep, the beast cannot awaken.”

 

We all settled around a glass dining room table, with biscuits, sweet breads and cake. There was a pretty bouquet of roses in the centre of a table and a pot of coffee beside it. Eren handed her a Brittany cake that we’d bought her from a gift shop in Carnac, and she sliced it up and gave us both pieces along with plenty of the other sweets on the table.

 

“So, how has your holiday been? How is school? How is your Father doing?”

 

She asked question after question after question and her words were like white noise. The cycle kept going, Eren smiling along as he piled food into his mouth and complimented it. Me replying ‘Fine, Fine, Fine, Fine’ at everything she asked as I sipped away at coffee to keep me awake.

 

“-and your Father was telling me all about you and your friends, especially you Eren.” I decided I’d listen to this part, “He said Mikasa is strong and looks after you, that Armin is like…your mentor. That he’s there to help when you’re upset. But he mumbled on and on and _on_ about you, Eren.”

 

Eren coughed a bit, “Really?”

 

She nodded, “He says you make Jean smile a lot, and that you always stay over and keep Jean company when Carsten works overnight. He said you help Jean study and you help him do his jobs.”

 

“I really…I’m not that great.” Eren tried to persuade her, but she wasn’t having any of it.

 

“No, let me thank you for being such a good friend to Jean.”

 

I furrowed my eyebrows and Eren was looking at me from the corner of my eyes, Mother sat smiling and the only noise I could hear was Eren shuffling around in his seat.

 

“ _Maman_ ,” I said, in more of a whimper than anything else, “Eren is my _boyfriend_.”

 

 ---

 

We left when the sky turned dark. Mother tried to get us to stay; perhaps she was lonely after having only Grandmother as company. She probably missed my Father. I made sure to kiss her goodbye, and Eren did too. She smiled, genuinely.

 

“Goodbye, dears,” She paused, “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

 

I shook my head, “No, sorry. We have to get to Roscoff for 7am tomorrow. Want me to call you when I get home.”

 

I shivered in the cold and Eren grabbed my hand, pulling it into his pocket and lacing his fingers around mine.

 

“Okay. Well, you stay safe, boys. Make sure to treat each other well, and be good to each other. Don’t let people tell you that you can’t be together, and remember I am really happy for you.” She said, her words muffled by sobs.

 

“Stay well, Maman.”

 

“Look after your Father, Jean.”

 

“Goodbye Mrs. Kirschtein.”

 

“It’s Nicole, and goodbye Eren.”

 

“Okay Nicole, Goodbye.”

 

“Look after Jean for me.”

 

 

“ _Maman!_ ”

 

“I will do.”

 

“Goodbye!”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_5 th June, 2006._ **

 

Thunder and lightening could be seen and heard, and the sound of waves crashing surrounded us. Some people in Eren’s class walked around on stage with panicked faces. Some good, some terrible. They managed the pull off the shipwreck scene okay.

 

Miranda and Prospero had a conversation that lasted years, like I said, the Tempest is boring as hell, and then finally I nudged my Father so he’d know that Eren was coming on.

 

When he did, the sound of flutes played in the background, and he almost danced on stage, being as beautiful, lightweight and airy as possible. He was dressed in an aquamarine cape, and a cyan shirt. His face was painted with blues and greens and golds on his eyes as if he was a magical creature of the elements, which he was. Armin smiled; proud of how he’d done Eren’s make-up. His hair was loose and wispy, and glitter coated his neck and jawline.

 

I listened to the words more than I’d ever listened to them before. I’d read this play, and gotten an A studying it, but it felt so much more magical to see it being preformed. The boy I liked was becoming a whole other person, a whole other creature, and mesmerizing the audience in a way I’d never seen him do before.

 

“ _My Ariel, chick,_ _that is thy charge: then to the elements_ _be free, and fare thou well!_ _”_ Prospero had said, and then Eren pulled off hiscape and reached out to the audience with a smile and eyes that looked so happy to be free again. He twirled in another dance-like move and floated to the back of the stage, becoming a part of the blues and the greens in the scenery.

 

Then Prospero finished his final monologue, and snapped his staff earning a gasp and a cheer from the crowd, and all the characters came to bow in their groups.

 

The boatswains, then Trinculo and Caliban and Stephano, Miranda and Prospero, Ferdinand, a bunch of others, and then Eren and his fellow spirits.

 

The secondary spirits like Iris bowed first, and then let Eren bow alone. And when he did, the crowd cheered so loudly for him.

 

I had never felt so proud in my life.

 

\---

 

Hours passed until Eren was finally granted permission to return home. The summer night's heat warmed me up like a thick duvet as I lay against the wall of the theater exit. Nervously, my foot tapped against the floor in a melody that didn't quite have a beat.

 

My Father had already returned home at my order. He had work early the next morning and would be exhausted waking up, plus I'd rather wait for Eren to arrive alone, you know, for privacy reasons.

 

Before leaving, however, my Father had asked to leave a message of, "You were excellent, Eren, I'm so glad that my son chose you as his partner." I wasn't quite sure how that made any structural sense, though.

 

The sunset passed almost as quickly as the crowds of people walked from the theater doors, chatting compliments or complaints about the show. It was a red sunset, breathtaking with blood-orange clouds flying through the wind, beautiful decorations to the crimson sky. By the time I heard the doors open finally, it was completely dark other than the smattering of stars across the black abyss above me.

 

In an instant, I turned to see the drama group exit the building, out of costume with relieved smiles on their faces. Eren walked out chatting to some girl with short chestnut hair. He waved her goodbye before facing in my direction.

 

His grin was miles wide as he walked up to me, big, fat and glorious. (Kissable, too, _um_.)

 

"Jean," He stage-whispered, his voice making the hairs on my arms stand up. How is it that someones _voice_ can give you goosebumps?

 

"Eren," I replied for the sake of being able to say his voice. His small hands found mine easily, our fingers intertwining as if they were chains, "Eren." I said again, earning a softer smile in return.

 

"Did you like it?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows. 

 

"No." I whispered hesitantly, placing my hands on his waist before he could give me a reply. Carefully, I lifted him up high, spinning round and round like a carousel, flying him through the air like those blood-orange clouds. Beautiful and unforgettable. When I let him drop back down to the ground, my lips pressed against his lips reassuringly, "No, I didn't like it...I loved it."

 

He chuckled at my cheesiness, probably enjoying it as it was a rarity on my side, "You loved it?"

 

"I loved you." My voice was a whisper now, as quiet as a summer breeze, "I _love_ you _._ "

 

* * *

 

 

**_ 25th August, 2006. _ **

 

I held the envelope in my hand.

 

Father patted my shoulder and Mother waited patiently on the other end of skype.

 

“Come on, I know you’ve done well.” Father said.

 

I peeled open the envelope slowly, and pulled out the off-white sheet from inside.

 

“Okay,” I began, “English A*.”

 

“Yes! I knew you could do it!”

 

“Well done, Jean boy.” Mother cried.

 

With a sigh I carried on, “Oh god, I’m saving Maths and Chemistry for last. French A, Art A* and Religion A.”

 

Father pulled me into a proud hug and muttered all sorts of praises to me. Mum complained that I could have gotten an A* in French, but I just laughed and she told me she was so proud.

 

My phone started vibrating in my pocket and so I pulled it out and answered, “Hello?”

 

“Jean!” Eren cried, and I instantly put him on speaker, “I got an A* in drama!”

 

I burst out laughing and he laughed too. Father and Mother looked slightly confused, “I told you so.” I said.

 

\---

 

Eren came over along with Armin and Mikasa for dinner, and we all sat around the table and discussed our scores. We’d all done well in the subjects that mattered to us, which Father said was most important. Armin wanted to compose music, Eren wanted to Act, Mikasa wanted to play sports and I wanted to write and draw.

 

By the end of the night, I assumed everyone had forgotten about my Maths and Science scores, but then my Dad said to me, “Hey, Jean, what did you get in Maths and Science again?”

 

I gulped, “Well in Chemistry I got an E.”

 

Eren snorted and my Father smiled, “That's…better than it _could_ have been. Maths?”

 

“Um,” I began, “I got an _N_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY FOR:
> 
> 1) constant re-uploads of this chapter  
> 2) my hiatus


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